


sanctify my sins

by 10softbot



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Demons, Horror, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Questionable Religious Imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 08:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 46,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10softbot/pseuds/10softbot
Summary: Each man creates his own god for himself. His own heaven, his own hell. It takes him years to realize that, but Johnny now knows sin will find him no matter what.





	1. act i

**Author's Note:**

> **warning:** there will be blood. lots of it. mentions and brief description of dead animals. there will eventually be smut. reader discretion is advised.
> 
> i'd like to thank everyone who's heard me talk about this fic for about two months, who's heard me complain about anything plot related, for inspiring me and giving me ideas on where to take this mess. i want to thank yas for sparking the idea up with me on dms, and carly for the endless encouragement and hype.
> 
> do not repost without permission.

**i. euronymous**

The first vivid memory Johnny remembers ever having goes all the way back to when he was six.

He is lying in his bed, unable to move. He is wide awake and it is barely past five in the morning, sunlight barely filtering in through his white curtains. He can hear the constant raindrops hitting against the glass on his windows, the faintest smell of wet grass and soil reaching up the second floor of his house, and instead of feeling at ease like he usually does in days like this, he is completely paralyzed with fear.

The tapping on his ceiling is louder than the tapping of raindrops against glass and completely deafening, and with every loud thump against the material he can feel his heart jump off his chest. He has never felt fear like this before, the one that clogs up your throat and stops you from breathing to the point you can’t even blink anymore.

The day they moved in and he claimed his room, the first thing his four-years-old self asked his mother was if they had a space on the ceiling. His mother assured him that no, they did not have an _attic_ , or whatever that meant, and that he could rest well assured and enjoy their new home. He was never really fond of the rooms above and beneath their old house – not like he ever went there because he was too small for it, but something about them didn’t make him feel good. So to know they wouldn’t have anything like that in their new home was refreshing to say the least.

The reason they were moving wasn’t a pretty one, to be very honest. It was on his fifth birthday that his mother told him what had really happened, and even at such a young age Johnny remembers feeling absolute heartbreak. With the passing of his father, his mother couldn’t handle living in the same house they did and decided it would be for the best of the both of them if they moved. He didn’t really mind, two years later and he can barely remember anything about the old place they lived in.

This one is definitely much better, perfectly fitting for him and his mom. The school bus stops right in front of the house next door, his mother sending him off with a smile every morning. He likes the house, the town they have moved to, although it never seems to stop raining. He isn’t one to complain about it but his mom sure is whenever he gets back home with muddied clothes and cheeks, interrupting her sewing job to give him a shower every single time.

Their home has a cabin kind of feeling to it that he absolutely adores; loves feeling like he is constantly on vacation, like the cabin near the lake they used to go to before his father passed away. Although this one is several states away and the surroundings are nothing alike, the wooden walls of his room oddly comforts him when he is trying to sleep. The lighting there isn’t the best, and the room is constantly shadowed even when he has his lights on, but he finds he doesn’t mind it at all. At least it helps him sleep.

Though, right now, it doesn’t. The wooden walls make the room feel cold, and when the thumping starts again all he can do is sink further down under his covers. He can’t scream, his throat won’t allow him to, and he can only hope the wetness on his eyes won’t translate itself into wetness on his pajama pants and mattress. His mother would be furious and tell him he is too old to be wetting his bed, and he wouldn’t even be able to argue about it.

He is scared. He is so incredibly scared like he has never been before. He is scared of the scratching sounds that start right after the tapping, and he is absolutely sure there is something alive living in his ceiling. Which is impossible – should be impossible, they don’t have an attic. There is not a single crawlspace that would lead anyone to the place right above his room; he would have known, having searched the entire house at least a million times for different places to play.

All he can do is pray, pray to the Lord the words his mom has taught him so patiently and effectively through the years. All he can do is pray that whatever is there will leave him alone, because God should know all he wants to do is sleep. He doesn’t have to be awake so early on a Saturday, and he just wants the thing there to go away so he can go back to dreamland.

The tapping and thumping and scratching doesn’t stop and he can feel his tears stream down his face, his clogged nose running and snot sliding down to his lips. He wonders why God isn’t listening to him and he decides to pray harder, his thoughts loud to his ears. The light rain turns into pouring and the noises only become louder, as if trying to compete with mother nature for his attention. The only thing he can think of is how much he doesn’t want to see a person standing outside the balcony doors facing straight to his bed and how much he wants it all to end.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for it to stop, his quiet sobs choked down into his blanket so they don’t turn into loud wailing and end up waking his mother up. He doesn’t want to be scolded, knows she is going to tell him it was all just a dream or a product of his imagination. But he knows it isn’t, especially when the noises suddenly come to a stop and he finally gathers enough courage to get off his bed.

His bed might be a bit too tall for him and he is careful to throw his legs off the mattress and reach for the floor. At times he regrets asking for a grown up bed to his mom, mostly when he wakes up in the middle of the night with the urge to pee and has to be extra careful not to fall face first onto the floor. The equally wooden floor is cold under his bare feet and he tries not to whine as he makes his way to the curtains covering the balcony double doors.

He slowly pads his way across his room, floorboards creaking under his feet, feeling his soul jump off his skin when a loud thunder echoes through the sky. He loves rain, loves how cozy it makes his home and his room feel, but he absolutely hates thunder. He is sure it is something created by the devil in order to scare children like him off, to induce fear into their hearts, and for that he absolutely hates it.

He grasps the curtain with shaky fingers, lungs shaking just as much as he takes a deep breath, feet glued to the ground as he makes an effort to move. He knows he isn’t going to find anything there, or at least hopes he won’t, the prayers in his head getting louder by the second. He doesn’t want to voice them out, knows his mom will hear him from across the hallway – knows that whatever might be lurking right outside his balcony door and above his ceiling will hear him as well.

It takes him too long to find the courage and pull the curtains, too long for his heart to stop trying to beat itself away off his body. In the time it takes for him to finally pull the fabric aside the rain starts pouring harder, another thunder echoing loudly in the sky. He jumps in surprise and that is just as effective for his arm to jerk aside and give him a view of the world outside his room. It can’t be past six, he would have known had he stayed in bed for so long, but the day is so cloudy it still feels like it is barely five.

Relief washes over him when he finally takes a look outside and finds no one standing behind his door. It was a stupid thought, really. No one would have been able to climb the house and get to his balcony without a ladder or anything of the sorts, seeing as the tree only leads to the window facing the side of his neighbor’s house.

The feeling is extremely short lived, his eyes immediately darting to the floor and his heart stopping beating altogether. There, right by the door, is the head of a bird, one he recognizes as the same ones that usually stop by his window. And then he screams, so loud his shrieks probably resonate down the entire street, and it doesn’t take long for his mother to rush into his room, yelling in panic.

He is sobbing, his shoulders shaking as he screams and yet he still can’t take his eyes off the bird’s head. There is blood pooling underneath it, its body nowhere to be found, and Johnny wonders what horrible thing would do that to a poor, inoffensive bird. He screams and screams even when his mother takes him into her arms and sweeps him off the floor, a string of soothing words falling off her lips in rushed succession.

He sobs as he wraps his arms around her neck, sobs as she tries to put him back into his bed, sobs when she tries to detach his arms from her. It starts thundering again and it is enough to send him straight into despair, his chest hurting and limbs shaking as tears wash down his face. And he is still praying, praying that God will listen to him and make it all go away, that his wishes will be heard at least once in his life.

“Johnny, my dear,” his mother’s words are soft and barely audible over his crying, and he can’t stop himself from crying harder. She places a hand over his chest, an attempt to calm him down, and his notably smaller hands clutch onto her with way too much force for someone who is only six. “Can you tell mom what is going on?”

He shakes his head, tiny hands squeezing hers for dear life and he still can’t stop crying. The fear he felt not even an hour earlier comes crashing down on him like a train, yet another thunder making him shake from head to toe. He cries like he never did before, not even when his mother told him, he had to say goodbye to his father one last time. And she can feel it too, lies down next to him and wraps her arms around him, holding him close.

His tears stain both his pajama and her nightgown, and he can’t stop them no matter how hard he tries. His chest feels heavy and his stomach twists and turns, the image of the bird’s head burning vividly behind his tightly shut eyelids. His mother’s hand comes up to brush his hair away from his forehead, cold lips pressing a kiss to his temples, and her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks again.

“It’s okay, honey,” she tells him, fingers threading through his hair, and all he does is shake his head no. “It’s okay,” she repeats herself, “mommy is here, and so is the Lord. Just pray together with me and everything is going to be okay.”

He doesn’t even think twice before saying yes, trusts that maybe God will finally listen to him if he is praying together with his mother, because he always seems to listen to her prayers anyway. She holds his hands into hers, presses them together and holds them close to his chest, and her words are significantly louder when she starts again.

“Dear Father,” he is only a heartbeat slower than her, falling into track right after. “Help me, every single morning, to find faith in the midst of the chaos.” He barely knows what it all means, but he knows the words by heart from how much she’s had him repeat them. “Give me the desire and ability to see You, hear You, talk to You, and give thanks to You.”

“And as I do,” she pauses and lets him say this part on his own, hiccups getting on his way as tears still run down his face, “I pray that I will draw nearer and nearer to You, and that my faith will multiply as I understand in new, deeper ways that You are everything I ever hoped You would be. And so much more. Amen.”

She starts from the bottom and makes him repeat the words again, makes him keep praying until there are no more tears left to cry and his body has stopped shaking. Her touch is warm and her words comforting, and Johnny finds himself able to finally open his eyes again after so long.

She is smiling down at him, expression serene as it can be, and he finally finds peace for the first time that morning. The raining outside his room has subsided back to drizzling and thunders no longer scare him out. He smiles up at her, a little crooked and a little shaky, and she places another kiss to his temples.

“Can you tell me what happened, baby?” she inquires again, not letting go of his hands, and he pouts up at her.

“There– there is something on the ceiling. On the roof.” She gives him a pointed look, and his eyes bulge comically. “I’m not lying, mama! I promise I’m not! I really heard something,” his voice wavers, “and then the bird–”

“What bird?” she furrows her brows, and all he can bring himself to do is point at the doors facing his bed.

She gets herself off his bed and slowly makes her way to the doors, floorboards squeaking louder under her heavier weight, and he doesn’t hesitate to bring his bedsheets up to his nose, ready to cover his eyes if anything happens. She reopens the door and takes a look outside, scanning the balcony area, and Johnny can already feel his heart beating faster.

“Johnny,” her voice is firm and serious, and Johnny holds tighter onto the sheets. “There is nothing here. What kind of sick joke are you pulling on me?”

What does she mean, _nothing?_ That is absolutely impossible. He throws his covers aside and quickly jumps off his bed, running to where she is standing with a hard expression on, holding both the door and the curtain open. He stops dead on his tracks when his eyes scan the area where the bird head and blood had been – nothing.

Nothing, not even a trail of blood, and he can feel his eyes well up again. He isn’t lying, he knows he isn’t, knows it wasn’t his imagination. He knows what he heard and what he saw and it is unfair that the universe is playing with him like that. He doesn’t wail this time, just lets the fresh batch of hot tears roll down his face as his mother stomps her way out of his room and into her own.

She comes back with a jar he is way too familiar with, and he doesn’t wait for her to speak to him before he makes his way to the foot of his bed. He watches with blurry eyes as she pours rice on the floor, the white grains bright against the dark boards.

“Pray,” she commands and he doesn’t hesitate to kneel down, “and ask for forgiveness for lying.”

“But I’m not lying!” he insists, looking up at her with pleading eyes, and her expression is severe.

“Ten times so you understand you should never lie.”

The grains dig uncomfortably on his kneecaps and shins as he clasps his hands together, crying furiously for being told to apologize for something he didn’t do. He still prays, asks the Lord for forgiveness for being a bad son and for lying to his mother, for talking about things that were never there to begin with.

But he knows they were there. He knows he heard the tapping and thumping and scratching on his ceiling, knows it was way too real for it to have been a dream. He knows he saw blood and the glassy eyes of a bird staring up at him when he opened that balcony door, knows the feeling of absolute horror that hit him as he stood there.

His mother doesn’t leave until he is done praying and asking for forgiveness, makes sure he’s learned his lesson for the day. By the time she goes downstairs to make breakfast it is almost seven, and for a kid Johnny already feels extremely tired. He climbs back into his bed and yells into his pillow, hugging one of the plushies he keeps around for company so he doesn’t feel as lonely.

Rain still taps against his window, a constant background noise reminding him that what he heard was real. And he wishes he could forget, if only it meant his racing heart would give him some rest, but he finds it is hard to when you are constantly staring at the spot right above your bed where the noises came from.

It makes him wonder why God isn’t being good to him and allowing him to forget it all, wonder why he has to suffer even after praying so much and asking for forgiveness ten times. It makes him question what he is doing wrong when all he ever does is be a good kid, steering out of trouble whenever it happens to come his way. All he wants right now is to feel love and acceptance from Him, so why is it so hard for God to give it to him?

His mother calls him down for breakfast and he makes his way out of his room with heavy footsteps, cheeks still sticky with dried tears. The wood under his feet creak every time he goes down another step of the old staircase, fingers trembling as they hold tightly onto the railing. The house seems darker and colder than it usually is, but he figures it is only normal with the rainy weather going on right outside their door.

He can see his mother sitting on her usual spot, eyes closed and fingers running over the beads of the rosary wrapped around her left hand, lips moving in silent prayer. He quietly makes his way to the seat next to her, pulling the chair back so he can climb into it. He waits until she is finished, and when she opens her eyes, she stares at him until he starts talking.

“Our dear Heavenly Father,” he starts as he brings his hands together once again, eyes glued to the plate of food sitting in front of him. “We thank thee for this food.”

She finishes up the prayer along with him, and his shoulders sag when he knows she’s not gonna inquiry him to pray anymore.

“Mommy, can I play in the treehouse today?” he mumbles as he shoves a piece of bread into his mouth, feet kicking under the table.

She nods, takes a sip of the steaming coffee on her mug and turns to look at him. “Promise you’re not gonna lie to me again?”

“But I wasn’t lying!” He pouts, looking up at her when he feels his eyes well up again. He watches as she puts her mug back down on the table, lips forming a thin line, and he looks down at his food before she can cast a glance at him. “Yes, mommy. I promise I won’t lie again.”

“Johnny, you know I love you, don’t you?” she sounds very serious, and Johnny looks at her again with big eyes.

“Of course, mommy!”

She stares at him a little longer, brows furrowing slightly. She sighs, nods again and turns back to her breakfast. “Don’t forget to get your rainboots and coat. Yell if you need anything, okay?”

He throws his arms around her, giving her a tight hug and she chuckles, threads her fingers through his hair and plants a kiss on the crown of his head. He quickly finishes eating, not bothering to change out of his pajamas as he runs to the mudroom by the door to get his boots and coat. It is barely raining anymore, but he doesn’t want to risk being scolded for making a mess of himself and the house in case it starts pouring again.

The climb up to the treehouse isn’t a hard one for the tree isn’t that tall to begin with, but it’s rather an icky one, moss covering the wooden ladder and sticking to his fingers as he makes his way up. There is water on the floor where the roof panels don’t meet, but other than that the space is perfectly fine and Johnny squeals when he finally gets to kick his boots off.

He runs through his toybox, looking for his red cape and crown, sure that he left it there the last time he was up here. It takes him a while but he manages to find it, tying the cape around his neck as neatly as he can manage to. He grabs the crown and pads his way to the mirror his mother put up on the wall for him to make sure it won’t be crooked.

Johnny dreams of ruling the world. As he raises his arms and puts the crown over his head, he imagines himself sitting on a throne, the entire world at his feet, calling him mighty ruler. He smiles, looks into the mirror to fix the crown and then his heart stops and drops straight to his feet.

There is a face staring at him, one that’s not his own, and his heart goes from not beating at all to beating too fast. He thinks it’s a face, he can’t tear his eyes away from its glowing eyes, and he wants to scream but he can’t, it won’t come out once again. And then he turns around, looks exactly where the reflection was showing, and there is nothing. No one, not a shadow, not a speck of dust.

He wants to cry again, he could probably cry if he really wanted to, but he swallows it down along with his fear and turns back to face the mirror. He fixes his hair along the edges of the plastic material, fixes the crown itself again and finally turns back to his toybox to fetch some other things.

All the time he is playing with his toys and with himself he tries to ignore the cold spot where he thinks he saw the face, tries to ignore the impeding feeling of being watched, of not being entirely alone. He figures he is still shaken from what happened earlier in his room, doesn’t want to scare his mother and be forced to pray for forgiveness a second time.

His mother tells him he is too smart for his age, tells him he is definitely going places if he keeps up all the hard work and energy he puts into the things he enjoys. He doesn’t really understand what that means right now but thinks that maybe he will in the future, when he is older. Right now, as he runs around the treehouse in his cape and crown and blue dinosaur pajamas, he wants to believe those words if they mean he is going to rule the world someday.

Playtime comes up when his mother calls him inside for lunch, and he regretfully takes off his king garments and puts them back inside the box. He is careful on his way down so he won’t fall, moss making everything that much slippery. His efforts are in vain, though, because as soon as he is about to finally touch the ground he sees the thing again.

Sitting on the bottom of the ladder, looking too much like a prize, is another severed bird head, blood staining its feathers and tainting the ground. He falls back when he misses the last step, his back and head hitting the ground with a low thud, and he whines as pain spreads over his head. He sits up, arms shaking as he supports his upper body up.

He blinks hard, blinks several times to make sure he isn’t just seeing things. He knew what he had seen in the morning wasn’t a figure of his imagination, and the head now standing right by his feet is proof of that. He scrambles to get on his knees, takes a closer look at the head, as if that glassy eye staring up is going to blink at him any second. It doesn’t though, and he looks around for anything that could possibly help him out.

He grabs a branch that is lying around and pokes it a couple times, the head making a disgusting sloshing sound as it rolls around in what he supposes is its own blood. He tries to make quick work of it so his mother won’t have to call him out again, how the digs his hands into the soil and digs up a hole that he thinks should be deep enough to fit the head inside.

With the branch, he pokes the head until it falls into the improvised grave, and he quickly throws dirt over it as his mom starts calling him again. He gets on his feet and says a quick prayer to the bird, asks God to take it to a better place and to make its life good. He runs back inside his house hoping that the rain that has started falling again will wash away the blood that was still there, just so he won’t have to see it again another time.

 

📿

 

Johnny soon finds out that, even as a six-year-old, life isn’t as simple as he thought it was.

Even months after that day, Johnny wakes up every single morning to noises in his ceiling right above his bed. Only that now he isn’t as scared, doesn’t scream for his mother anymore, rather feels angry that whatever is living there wakes him up every day right as the sun starts to rise.

The third time it happened he begged his mom to take a look at their roof, and to say she was annoyed was an understatement. She did grab a ladder and went all the way up there, only to come back down with a deep frown on her face and her lips drawn into a tight line. He remembers clear as day as she poured her entire jar of rice on the floor and made him pray for an hour straight, and ever since then he hasn’t said a word about the topic to anyone.

The weather is just as cloudy and gloomy as it was back then, but it has long stopped raining. He waits in his bed, listening to the sounds coming from above that could easily go as a badly arranged symphony, waits for his school alarm to ring so he can finally get his day going. For the two hours that he lies there, wide awake and listening, he doesn’t dare moving. He can barely breathe as it is.

And when the clock rings he is quick to turn it off, for his mother’s is only supposed to go off about twenty minutes later. He takes the extra time he has to climb off his bed and search for the box he knows to be buried deep inside his closet. He places it on his bed, covers it with a few sheets of paper and takes a deep breath before he makes his way to his balcony door.

When he opens it now he isn’t as shaken as he was the first few times it happened. Now, as he pushes the curtains aside and looks through the glass, he can see several bird heads lying around, unblinking eyes staring up. He quietly opens the door, trying not to make too much noise. He is quick to pick up the heads and put them inside the box, rushing back inside and putting it under his bed. He goes to the bathroom then, picks up a bucket his mother leaves there for emergencies and fills it with enough water without making it too heavy for him to carry.

He has done it so many times by now, washing his balcony with clean water to wipe off the blood on the boards. He can still see the different spots the heads have showed up on, and if things keep going like this he is sure the floor will entirely be a shade darker than it originally was.

He has tried praying to God to send it away, to let him sleep in until his alarm rings only to find his prayers completely ignored. His mother often tells him that God is very busy, and he figures that is the reason why he isn’t being heard. Maybe someone needs Him more whenever he asks for help. He has also tried talking to the thing, has tried asking countless times for it to leave, but much like his prayers his pleas go completely unnoticed.

The months drag into years and Johnny makes it routine to clean after the thing and bury the dead birds in his yard. On his seventh birthday he almost pukes when he opens the balcony door, so many bird heads scattered even he thinks it’s disturbing. It goes on until he is eight and then it all stops. He still doesn’t understand why.

 

**ii. hecate**

It is finally a decently nice day outside, and Johnny has managed to convince his mother to let him play on the park on his way home from school. She has told him to be careful, has prayed for him before he left that morning and asked him to come back home safely. The town they live in isn’t all that dangerous, but Johnny isn’t ingenuous to the point of not knowing there are bad people everywhere.

He decides not to take the bus on the way back, chooses to walk to the park instead. It will take him longer to get there, sure, but the park is way before his house and the bus driver would never let him get off before his stop. So instead of walking the same path twice, he decides it’s best to just take his time and go on his own. It doesn’t have to make sense; he likes being around nature and walking around brings him a sense of peace.

His backpack feels heavy on his shoulder, and as he takes a left turn on the road he makes a mental note of going through the stuff he is carrying to school. It shouldn’t be that heavy, seeing as all his books should be back home. He can hear the birds singing on the trees that surround him, their tops meeting to form some sort of tree tunnel along the road. He loves the way it looks, loves the flower bushes that grow near the roots, how the fallen leaves completely cover the asphalt and its surroundings.

This is a straight road lad leads him directly to the park and, if he walks further down, back home. He doesn’t usually walk down this road unless he and his mother are going somewhere by feet, for the school bus takes a different route to drop off the other kids home. It takes him about ten minutes of walking until he comes across the very first house along the sidewalk, and it gives him the chills to walk past it.

It is probably the biggest house Johnny has ever seen in his life, possibly the biggest on town grounds. It might once have been nice; it might once have been the home of an actual family. But scrub and tall weeds now cover the oddly still green lawn, which clearly hasn’t been cut in years. A stone fence borders the property, sagging at spots where time has knocked it down, an iron gate hanging from its post.

It is certainly abandoned. It has a mailbox entirely hidden by tall grass, the driveway overgrown. It has bushes and brambles up against the door and the windows, has weeds in the gutters and green slime on the walls and a cracked foundation pierced by creeper tendrils thicker than his wrists. Columns and friezes and beautiful arched windows twenty feet high adorn the front porch, with once polished wood floors and a graceful banister that curves up toward a soaring second floor gallery.

Johnny can’t help but stare. His feet are glued to the floor, unable to move as the house stands tall on its own, the woods as its backdrop making it that much creepier. He has heard rumors about an old house by the woods, about the cursed house that no one has moved into for years and years, but he never thought he would actually come across it.

Now that here is here, he can probably understand why no one dares living in it. The house is big, far too big for such a small town like this one, and it feels entirely misplaced where it stands. He notices he can’t hear anything around him; not the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves as wind blows against the trees, the familiar sound of rabbits hopping around. There is nothing, and silence is deafening to his ears.

The more he stares at it, the more unsettling the house gets. He can see where velvet drapes frame the tall windows and the lace inner curtains remained drawn, allowing daylight to enter. He wonders how it must look inside, if the family that last lived there even bothered taking anything with them, and he doesn’t even register as his feet start dragging him towards the rusted gate.

He squeezes his way through, and while his mind is telling him to run, he can’t stop his body from being drawn in. It is fascinating, how much bigger the house gets as he gets closer to it. He has never seen anything so omnipresent like this particular building, and curiosity speaks louder as he wonders to himself if the door would even be unlocked.

He is barely halfway through the driveway when a sense of despair and utter fear hits him and makes his stomach drop. He can distinctively remember when was the last time he felt it – when he was six, at the treehouse. It feels like he is going to be sick, lunch rising back up his insides and dying on his throat, and he doesn’t waste a second to turn around and run.

He almost screams when his backpack gets caught on the gate, can feel fresh tears collect on the corners of his eyes as he scrambles to set himself free and get off the property. The crunching of dried leaves under his feet is loud and suddenly all the noises he couldn’t hear before are just as loud. The chirping of birds, the distant sound of cars passing, his own breathing and especially his loud heartbeat.

His blood is boiling in his veins as he walks down the road, faster than he was before, trying to get away from the house as quickly as possible. And then he starts praying out loud just so God will listen to him faster. He prays and apologizes for trespassing, asks for forgiveness and then asks for protection. He doesn’t know what for or from, but he prays every single protection prayer he knows.

Relief washes over him as he gets to the park and he doesn’t find himself alone. There are kids with their parents playing around, and Johnny recognizes one of them as the kid who lives three houses down from his. He shyly greets her and her parents, drops his backpack on a bench nearby and allows his body to sink down onto the floor.

The grass tickles his neck as he allows himself to finally relax, chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. It had been so long since he last felt that scared, he doesn’t really know what to think of it. He listens closely to the sounds coming from mother nature – he can hear squirrels communicating with one another in the distance, can hear the hop of bunnies somewhere to his left, the sound of feet stomping the grass as the kids run around playing.

He stares up at the sky, trying to find peace and comfort in such a sunless day. He has grown used to the lack of sunlight they get, the skies permanently grey as rain pours down on them for most part of the year. It isn’t as bad as it sounds once you get used to it, but he definitely misses the beachy breeze they had before moving. It’s one of the few things he can’t forget from when he was younger.

There is a sudden weight on his belly and he looks down to find a grey bunny staring at him, ears and nose moving as it thinks. He reaches up to pet it and the animal lets him for a moment, Johnny’s fingers scratching right behind its ears affectionately. But then it hops off him and he sits up, watching where it will go next. The bunny only looks at him, as if waiting, and Johnny frowns. When he doesn’t make any other move the bunny hops just a couple feet away and turns back to him, _waiting_.

Johnny gets on his feet, thinking how ridiculous this must seem. He feels like Alice from Alice in Wonderland, seemingly following a bunny around as it starts hopping away. Only that this bunny isn’t wearing a waistcoat nor does it have a pocket watch on him; it is just a regular bunny, one that often turns around as if to check if Johnny is still following him before it starts hopping away again.

And maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, because the bunny is leading him to the woods his mother so often tells him to steer away from. He never quite understood why, for nature has always been so friendly to him, but he listened and agreed to it either way. He wasn’t one to ever disobey his mother, and the thought alone that that was exactly what he was doing right now makes him feel a little sick.

The bunny doesn’t go too far in, though, and Johnny stops dead on his tracks when his eyes catch a glimpse of something he is pretty sure should not be there. Well, not something, but rather someone, and he quietly makes his way to hide behind a tree. The boy doesn’t seem to have noticed him, and Johnny wants to call out for the bunny as it starts hopping in his direction, but he stops himself before he can do as much.

He stands there for what feels like hours – and maybe it has been hours, though it is likely it has barely been minutes, – watching as the boy stood in the same place, crouching, playing with something. He doesn’t understand why someone would go into the woods to play on their own, especially when there were so many kids around. He can hear the boy talking to himself as he rearranges everything a million times, and as Johnny takes a closer look he can see he is playing with some sort of white pebbles.

Johnny has never seen that sort of pebbles anywhere around, and it makes him wonder where the boy could have possibly gotten them. He is sure he didn’t buy it – no one _buys_ rocks, it’s pointless when you can find so many just sitting around. He is intrigued and he wishes he could hear what the boy is saying, but for that to happen he would have to get so much closer and he doesn’t want to risk being seen.

He doesn’t even know why he is hiding. He has nothing to be afraid of, for the boy seems to be around his age or younger. Still, he doesn’t move from his spot, eyes flitting from the boy to the bunny to the pebbles and then back to the boy. He watches as the boy reaches for a small box he didn’t see was lying around right next to him, watches as he reaches inside and takes out a small bird from it.

It chirps loudly as it is taken out of the box, its wings visibly trying to flap even inside the boy’s hold. Johnny waits for the boy to set it free, waits to see it fly away but it never happens, the murmurs of words starting again and Johnny gets a bad feeling in his guts about all this.

His hand flies in horror to his mouth as he tries not to scream. He can’t look away from the way the boy’s hands hold the bird down and snaps its neck so easily, the sound of its bones breaking loud to the quiet of the woods. Johnny is shaking, shaking like he hasn’t in a long time. The boy places the now dead bird in the middle of whatever it is he was building, lips never ceasing moving.

The feeling of dread hits him again and Johnny looks around, trying to find the source of his discomfort. It’s the second time that day he feels it, and there must be a reason. He squints at the trees around them, blood running cold when he spots a black mass staring down at the boy just a few feet away from him. He can see the boy looking up, looking around as if trying to find something, and adrenaline finally hits him and makes him run away.

He doesn’t care about how loud his footsteps are as they crunch the leaves beneath them, doesn’t care if the boy or whatever else that was are going to see him, he just wants to leave that place as soon as possible. He pants as he finds his way back to the park, barely stops running to grab his backpack and goes straight back home.

His lungs burn as he barges into his house, ears muting out his mother’s yells for him to take off his shoes before he goes inside. He toes them off and quickly makes his way upstairs and into his room, slamming the door shut by accident. He doesn’t care that he is going to be yelled at again for that. He drops his backpack by the door and rushes to get under his covers, uncaring that his clothes are dirty from the park.

His heartbeat is loud, he can hear it clearly and feel it pulsing on his neck and against his closed eyelids, and he really wishes he could scream. He does what he has been taught his entire life instead – pray. He starts off in his head, praying to himself, reciting the words to the Hail Mary in his mind. But as panic rises in his stomach and it feels like he is going to start crying, he starts saying the words out loud, for everyone willing to listen to him.

He prays at least a couple hundred times before his mom comes knocking on his door, cracking it open before letting herself in.

“Johnny, dear, is everything okay?” she sounds worried, and he feels guilty for it. He quietly prays for forgiveness. She sits on his bed, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he replies with a shaky voice, not fully trusting himself to speak that much. “Everything is fine.”

“You know you can tell me if anything happened, right?” he nods from under the cover, and when he doesn’t say anything, she keeps going. “Well, why don’t you go take a nice shower, hm? Maybe invite Yuta for a sleepover tonight? I do worry that you might get lonely on your own in this house.”

“I’m fine, ma,” he tries again. He should definitely take a shower, and inviting Yuta over did sound like a good idea. “I’ll give him a call and see if he can.”

“Okay then. I’ll be downstairs making dinner, okay?” he nods again, and she leans down to give him a kiss through his sheets. “Call me if you need me, yeah?”

He hums, waits for her to close his door again before emerging from under the sheets. He is still breathing deeply, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, but he feels a lot better than he did when he left the park. He couldn’t see the boy’s face, would probably never know who it was and he hopes he will never see him again. The image of the bird’s neck snapping still burns vividly behind his eyelids, and he wonders if he will ever be able to forget it.

 

📿

 

Johnny nearly flies down an entire flight of stairs when the doorbell rings. He is excited, to say the least, to have Yuta over after so long. He doesn’t even recall the last time his mother allowed him to have someone over, so when she proposed it herself he was ecstatic. It isn’t even a matter of her liking his friends or not – it’s just that she doesn’t really like to have strangers in her house.

Yuta isn’t a stranger, though, has been Johnny’s friend ever since they moved in. He lives a couple houses down, on a recently built two-story house much unlike his very old one, and Johnny has long learned that his mother felt utter jealousy over the Nakamoto family’s wealth. She would be caught dead before ever saying it out loud, though, for envy is one of the seven deadly sins and she is a firm believer that if it isn’t spoken about then it isn’t true.

For that and some other unsaid reasons that Johnny will never quite understand that Yuta isn’t allowed over very often. He thinks it’s stupid, really, because it is far from being his fault the family he was born in, but it’s okay as long as they still get to see each other. Which they do, usually meeting at the park to play or at his treehouse without his mother’s knowledge. If his mother ever knew he is sure she would make him pray for forgiveness for three days straight for lying, but he doesn’t think it can ever be considered as lying if she never really asks.

He can be sneaky, for one, but Yuta can certainly be three times more than he is. Yuta hardly has a filter, bubbly in a way a child can ever be, but not in a bad way. He is always bringing the best out of Johnny, and for that he doesn’t think he could ever ask for a better best friend. It is his spontaneity and the way he carries himself that draws him in, and Johnny often wonders if that’s the product of being constantly showered with love by his parents.

He can feel his face split into two the second he opens the door, Yuta’s grin on his face as he grabs the backpack strap over his shoulder immediately making him forget everything he witnessed at the park that evening. For now, at least. He watches as Yuta bounces up and down when he steps aside and lets him in, quick to clean his shoes on the front doormat before walking inside and toeing them off.

“Hello, Yuta,” Johnny’s mother’s voice resonates through the kitchen and into the entrance hall, and Johnny watches as Yuta’s pupils shake for a second and his smile falters. It is barely noticeable, Johnny himself wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking.

“Hi, Mrs. Seo,” his voice is wavering and Johnny feels for him, would probably be just as nervous. There is a pause, and he is quick to add right after, “thank you for having me over!”

Johnny laughs, closing the front door behind him just as his mother makes her way to the hall.

“Oh, dear, you don’t have to thank me! Johnny could really use some company right now,” she is trying to be nice, Johnny knows, trying to show him that she cares about him but all he can think about is how immensely condescending she ends up coming off as.

“We’ll be playing upstairs,” Johnny says with a forced smile, making his way towards the staircase and hoping Yuta won’t take long to follow him. He doesn’t, footsteps trailing behind him and doubling up the floorboard creaking.

Johnny can feel Yuta is nervous walking behind him, and when he glances back he can see his eyes darting at the walls nonstop. Johnny doesn’t ask and Yuta doesn’t say anything either, knows all too well the reason behind him being so overly nervous. It is only when they are past his bedroom door and Johnny clicks it shut behind them that he allows himself to relax, throwing his backpack over Johnny’s bed.

He watches Yuta kick his feet in the air as he makes his way to sit beside him, watches his eyes scan the room before settling on him once Johnny lets his weight down onto the mattress. Yuta gives him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a bit crooked and not all that genuine, and all Johnny can do is smile back at him apologetically.

“You know, this house of yours is really unsettling,” Yuta says with a nod, fingers digging into the soft mattress, and Johnny sighs. “I know this is like, your home, but is it normal for your mom to have so many crosses up on the walls?”

Johnny doesn’t blame him for asking, really, the only reason he doesn’t question it himself being because he grew up in that very environment.

“She is very devoted,” is what he says in reply instead, and Yuta hums in response, nodding lightly. “I know she can be a bit scary.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Yuta ponders for a while, as if trying to choose the right words. “She is very… intense?”

“Intense,” Johnny tries the weight of the word on his tongue, and though it doesn’t feel wrong, he is sure scary still is the right word. “Maybe. I think she’s just trying to take good care of me.”

Yuta hums again, climbing properly into his bed and making his way towards the headboard, plopping his head down on the pillow with a huff. Johnny follows right after, the peaceful feeling of having his best friend right there with him calming his racing heart. They stare at his ceiling for a while, staring at the night sky and its fake stars so meticulously painted over plaster, silence filling up the space.

He remembers the day he asked his mom for it, remembers the excitement he felt when she told him that it was okay, remembers how happy he felt to have Yuta there with him when they started working on it. It makes him remember the days he lies on the grass of his yard, watching the clouds and counting stars, be it on his own or with Yuta before his parents stop by to pick him up. It makes him happy, to have a piece of nature in his bedroom even if it is as fake as a couple buckets of paint.

He wonders how it is to be Yuta, with a sister to play with and a skylight in his room, through which he can see some actual stars every single night when it isn’t raining. He wonders how it feels like to be raised with relative freedom, without his parents forcing beliefs and faith into him that has done little to nothing to him so far. He wonders how it feels to be free, though Johnny isn’t exactly _not_ free.

“I don’t know,” Yuta says, and Johnny startles because he didn’t know he had said that out loud. “I don’t know how it is to _not_ grow up like that so I wouldn’t know what to tell you.”

“I just,” Johnny stirs uncomfortably in place, skin prickling with discomfort. “I just wonder how it feels like not having to pray for every little thing I do. Too many words, it’s tiring.”

“Well, have you tried telling her that you don’t really want to do it?” It’s an innocent enough question, but Johnny can’t help but scoff.

“She would probably make me kneel down on rocks instead of rice and pray for forgiveness for an entire week. So, like, no thanks.”

Yuta turns to lay on his stomach, looking down at Johnny instead of up at the ceiling. Johnny lets his eyes unglue from the painting and focuses on Yuta instead, frowning at the grin spreading on the boy’s lips.

“Don’t you have a single drop of rebellion in your blood, my friend?” he laughs, loud and boisterous and full of teeth, and Johnny can’t help but smile up at him. “I mean, come to think of it. What has God ever done to you except give you a hard time?”

Johnny laughs a bit harder, the statement funny for being so tragically true. “There is nothing I can do about it, really.”

Yuta isn’t laughing anymore, though the smile never leaves his lips. It is contagious, Johnny knows that much, his own muscles unable to relax and take the smile off his face. Yuta is pretty, Johnny thinks to himself in confidence, though he doesn’t think there is anything wrong in finding your friends pretty. He is sure anyone with a set of eyes could see it, so it is only natural that he sees it too.

Yuta is all about friendly smiles and friendly hugs, warmth radiating off his entire being no matter where he goes. He is all about quirks and witty thinking, about getting Johnny to laugh so effortlessly, about being a good listener and a great adviser. Johnny can’t help but get lost into him. It is only natural, that much he is sure of.

“Johnny,” Yuta calls out after a few seconds of silence, and Johnny snaps out of it to bring him back into focus. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Johnny can’t really say he has. The girls he knows from school are in that weird phase of thinking boys are gross – his mother has told him once that’s something natural that happens to every girl his age – and he doesn’t really think his neighbor would be that much into the idea of kissing him. Not that his mother or her parents would ever allow it, really, so all he can give as a reply is a shake of his head.

“Well, would you like to? To, like, know how it feels.” Johnny frowns, nodding in confusion, not quite understanding where Yuta is trying to go with this. He doesn’t notice the way he licks his lips quickly, nor how his pupils shake as his eyes flicker down to Johnny’s lips and back to his eyes.

All he knows is that one moment Yuta is looking at him funny and the next one he isn’t, is bending down to press their lips together and Johnny doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t think there is anything to think about really, can’t really process the fact that his best friend is kissing him, in his bed, under those fake stars.

It only lasts a few seconds, for the porcelain elephant Johnny has on his desk immediately flies off the surface and shatters on the floor, and his heart beats faster at the noise than at the fact that Yuta just kissed him on the lips. And then Yuta is retracting back, not a bit mindful of the broken souvenir on the floor, and Johnny’s lungs feel like they are on fire as he tries to breathe properly, Yuta’s grin back on his lips as his head spins.

“Well?” he inquires, expectantly and demanding and Johnny takes more than a few moments to collect his thoughts. “How did it feel?”

Johnny sits up, eyes bulging as he looks at the porcelain shards by the foot of his bed. “Wet? Your lips are chapped. Uh, what the heck just happened?”

Yuta giggles, sitting up and finally looking at the broken object. “I think the thing in your closet isn’t very happy?” he says with a tilt of his head, and Johnny frowns at him again. “It didn’t seem at all happy when I kissed you.”

“What are you talking about,” Johnny whines, shoving him lightly to the side, and Yuta’s giggles grow louder. “There is nothing in my closet!”

“There is, though!” Yuta insists, hitting him on the shoulder. “Now it is angry that you won’t acknowledge it.”

Johnny shoves him until he falls off bed with a loud thump, throwing his pillow at his face right after. Yuta is laughing but all Johnny can feel is the impending fear creeping up his bones. He can’t help the images that flash before his eyes, of severed bird heads and a boy in the woods and some rocks, and when Yuta moves around and the floorboards creak under his weight Johnny can feel his soul jump off his skin as the image of the bird’s neck snapping flashes again and again.

He is shaking, unconsciously so, fingers gripping his bedsheets so hard his knuckles go white. And when Yuta climbs back into bed, a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and a furrow between his brows, Johnny can feel hot tears stream down his face. Because this isn’t fair, he thinks, to be called a liar his entire life for believing in what his eyes could see, to be forced into prayer and beg for forgiveness when he hasn’t done anything wrong while Yuta, _perfect Yuta_ , can just sit there and say whatever he wants and still get away with it.

It is unfair, having to be someone he is not, to say he believes in something he doesn’t, or that he doesn’t believe in something that he clearly does. Johnny knows exactly what Yuta is talking about, the _thing_ in his closet having followed him for so many years, and his knees burn with the ghost feeling of rice digging into his skin as he prays his days away until his mother is sure he no longer believes in what his eyes are seeing.

“Dude, I’m sorry.” Yuta’s voice is small, and Johnny nods at him through his tears. “I promise I won’t do it again. And I’m sorry for your elephant, I’m sure my mom can give you a new one.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says with a shake of his head, jumping off bed and padding to where it broke so he can pick up the shards. He makes sure to hide it somewhere his mother won’t see, not really wanting to explain what happened or to come up with a lie to cover it up.

As they go to sleep, Johnny quietly retelling the things he saw happen in the woods and all those years of cleaning up bloody bird heads, Yuta clings closer to him under the covers, breathing uneven.

“Can we sleep with the lights on? That thing really does not look so happy.” Johnny can’t bring himself to say no, not with the way Yuta slightly shakes against him.

 

**iii. proserpine**

Yuta’s words burn in his brain for years after he says them, and it is not at all his fault. It didn’t take long for Johnny to realize his so called faith wasn’t really taking him anywhere, and after that he ceased his praying entirely. His mother could never know, naturally, for she would probably die of absolute heartbreak if she ever did.

It is hard playing along when she still makes him pray before every meal, every time he has to set foot outside his house, but he is quickly becoming a master of making his lips move to the words while drawing his mind completely blank. It doesn’t matter, he thinks, if he prays to God or not – he was never really heard in the first place anyway.

He wonders if this is the rebellion Yuta talked to him about all those years ago, though it certainly does not feel like it. Johnny likes to think he is just living his life the way he wants to, and if that comes off as his teenage years rebellious phase then so be it. He is tired of following his mother’s rules, of being so perfect all the time. He remembers it perfectly, the day he decided it was time to tell his mother he liked boys.

He remembers how anger flashed across her face, how she reached for the rice jar in the kitchen cabinet and poured it all over the floor. He remembers her forcing him down on his knees when he refused to kneel down on his own will, and the sting on his cheek where she hit him when he refused to pray for forgiveness. Because he wasn’t wrong; it is not a choice who you like and who you don’t, and Johnny doesn’t think he is wrong in the slightest for liking boys more than he likes girls.

He will never forget her ringing voice yelling at him that this is wrong and that God doesn’t allow it, how he should forget all about it, how he didn’t have the right to revoke her rights to give her grandchildren like that. He remembers her crying, wailing loudly as she clutched her rosary tightly between her fingers. He remembers closing his eyes and bringing his hands up in prayer, only to mentally ask whatever other entity was out there to outright end his suffering.

His saving grace came in the form of rapid knocking on his front door, a beaming Yuta greeting him before he grabbed the boy by the wrist and stormed out of his house, his mother’s wailing nothing but white noise as he strutted down their driveway and towards the park.

“What’s going on?” he remembers how concerned Yuta sounded, trying to keep up with his stride down the road.

“I came out to my mom,” Johnny said with a furrow of his brows, not slowing down even when Yuta gasped loudly and started jogging to keep up with him.

“How did she take it?” Johnny now knows he only meant well, but at the time he could only feel anger bubble up his stomach.

“Well, I have rice sticking to my knees and a handprint across my cheek, how the hell else do you think it went down?”

He shouldn’t have been angry at Yuta, it wasn’t his fault. Yuta had been nothing but supportive of him, a shoulder for him to cry on when his mother was being unbearable, and he shouldn’t have taken it out on him. The Johnny now knows that all too well, and he would go back in time to apologize for his shit behavior if he had the chance to.

Though Yuta never lets him feel like it, reassures him constantly that it’s okay, that he is okay, and that he shouldn’t stress over it. Johnny still feels like a fifteen-year-old asshole, especially because Yuta is the last person who should be on the receiving end of his pent-up anger, and he can’t help but be grateful for having such a mindful friend.

He is sitting on the floor of his bedroom balcony, watching the leaves fall off the tree when something catches his eye. Or rather someone, a skinny boy quickly striding down the road and towards the park, and Johnny is fast to get on his feet. He knows this isn’t the first time he has seen the boy – in fact, he is sure this same person has been walking past his house every single day for the past few months, and he cannot deny curiosity takes the best of him when he walks back inside only to make his way downstairs and past the front door.

He ignores his mother calling out for him, ignores his coat hanging in the mudroom, ignores the fact that it’s cold outside and that he will probably catch a cold for being so stupid. But he doesn’t mind, because the boy is nearly out of sight when Johnny starts following him, heart beating loudly in his ears. It is only when he feels cold cobblestone dig painfully to his feet that he realizes he didn’t even bother putting shoes on.

The five seconds he stops to look at his bare feet is enough for him to lose sight of the boy entirely, and as Johnny gets closer to the park he starts getting a bad gut feeling about all this. He stalks towards the general park direction, to where he is sure the boy is lead to, uncaring of the moss making his feet slip under him with every step he takes. Wind blows unpleasantly against him, making his hair fly into his face – he makes a mental note to ask Yuta for a haircut later.

It is when he finally gets to the park and he notices the familiar signs that he knows things are as bad as he thought they would be. It is the familiar nothingness – the absence of sound is terrifyingly familiar, and Johnny can feel his throat clog when he can’t even hear the whizzing chirr of insects, the faint rustling of leaves being whipped into the air by the wind. Once again there is nothing, and he proceeds with cautious steps.

Wet grass tickles his feet as he steps towards the woods, the tips of his fingers tingling with familiar anxiety, heartbeat thundering loud in his ears. He shouldn’t be here – he knows he should not be here, can feel it in the way his guts twist and turn, knows he shouldn’t be chasing something he can’t even see. And yet he can’t stop himself from going deeper into the woods, towards the place he can distinctively remember everything went down all those years ago.

He is mindful enough of where he steps, trying not to step over fallen branches and thorns, would rather not have his mother asking him why his feet were bleeding. He wishes he could hear anything other than his own breathing, the crunching under his weight nothing but a faint background noise. He can feel all his senses heighten, and it all feels like a bad omen.

The first thing that comes back to him are the smells around him. At first, all he can he smell is his own breath, his own body, but then the familiar smell of soil that has been rained on comes to him and throws him off. Then comes the overpowering smell of flowers, making him feel sick and dizzy. He was never one to enjoy flowery scents that much.

It is when the faint metallic odor of blood hits his nostrils that Johnny stops dead on his tracks, dread boiling in his blood, threatening to spill over. There is no sign of the boy he saw just minutes earlier and he would feel immensely frustrated if he didn’t stumble upon a clearing and immediately felt like puking – sitting there, as casual as they could be, are several severed bird heads, soaked in fresh blood.

He turns on his heels and leaves – _runs_ back home, images of years of picking up and burying dead birds in his backyard flashing before his eyes. He doesn’t mind the tears threating to spill, the pain shooting up his heel and the subsequent blood smearing his skin nor the shadow that leaves the woods just a moment after him. All he can think of is the tapping and thumping and scratching on his ceiling, of being so horrified his voice wouldn’t even come out.

He can’t feel the tears running down his face when it starts to pour, thunders so loud it shakes him to his core. He can’t hear his mother yell at him when he bursts through the front door over his frantic breathing and uncontrollable sobbing, doesn’t see the bloodied footprints left on his wake over the old floorboards. His mother is banging on his locked door, demanding to be let it, and all Johnny can do is cry and cry and _cry_ , his head hurting to the point of feeling like it is going to split in half.

And even there, in the secure confines of his room, the feeling never leaves him. It has been too long since he last felt like he wasn’t completely alone – it has been years, in fact, and he doesn’t dare looking up at his mirror. Instead he blindly looks for his phone he knows to be thrown somewhere around his bed, punching Yuta’s number without really looking, hoping that he would actually answer.

“Hello?” comes Yuta’s static voice, rough from sleep. Johnny doesn’t answer, trying to calm down his nerves enough so he could string a sentence together. He quietly sobs into the phone, and Yuta’s breathing picks up. “Johnny? Are you okay?”

“I can’t breathe,” he manages to get out, chest constricting and making it hard to breathe. It hurts.

“Is it anxiety? Are you home?” he asks, alarmed, and Johnny can hear shuffling from his end of the call. He hums, trying to swallow down his tears. “Leave your balcony door unlocked, I’m coming over.”

He tries to stop his heart from racing, tries talking himself into thinking that everything is okay, that he is fine now that he is home. It doesn’t work when the glass bottle of his cologne shatters over his table, and he screws his eyes shut as he waits. Waits for his breathing and his heart to regulate or for Yuta to arrive, whatever comes first.

It’s Yuta, barging through the glass doors and letting rain inside along with himself. Even then Johnny doesn’t dare opening his eyes, still feeling as sick as he felt when he left the park. He startles when wet hands reach for his knees, Yuta’s clear presence kneeling down in front of him. When he doesn’t react, Yuta nudges him.

“It’s just me,” he tries to keep his voice low, as if not to startle him. Johnny opens his eyes, breath coming in quick spurts, trying to keep things under control. He meets Yuta’s eyes for a second before Yuta looks down instead, at his foot and it’s only then that Johnny notices he’s bleeding. “Fuck, dude, what happened?”

Johnny tries answering, opens his mouth and tries to get his words out but all he manages to do is give him a broken sob as an answer. His hands are shaking – either from the spiking anxiety or from being rained on, and he really doesn’t want to concern Yuta like this, but he _can’t breathe._

“Right, can’t breathe. Uh,” he looks around, pondering what to do. Johnny watches as he gets on his feet and quickly paces to his bathroom, listens for the running water until it comes to a stop and Yuta is right back at his feet. “You’re okay, Johnny. It’s okay.”

He grabs Johnny by the ankle and lifts his bloodied foot up, and Johnny finally feels the pain shooting up his body. He fists his now soaked bedsheets, trying to ground himself on real things. Yuta examines his heel for a while, and when he looks back up at Johnny and speaks again, he sounds puzzled.

“There’s a thorn on your heel,” he hesitates, looking for any sign that the tears still running down his face are going to stop anytime soon. “Why is there a _thorn_ on your heel?”

“Woods,” Johnny manages to get it out, swallowing down the lump on his throat. “I went to the woods.”

Yuta’s brows furrow. “And you were barefoot? It’s pouring outside.”

“Yuta, do you remember what happened years ago?” Yuta tilts his head to the side, questioning, and Johnny really feels like he is going to puke. He just hopes it won’t be over Yuta’s head. “With the birds.”

“You mean…?” he trails off, and Johnny nods. He hates to see realization flash across his face.

“It’s happening again,” his tongue feels heavy as he says it, and this time he can’t ignore the chill that runs down his spine, can’t ignore the overpowering presence right on his back and breathing down his neck. “Yuta, we’re not alone.”

Yuta doesn’t reply for a while, taking his attention back to his heel. He digs his nails into his skin, pulling the thorn out and Johnny tries not to scream, adrenaline making his lungs work properly again.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, disappearing inside his bathroom for a few second and coming back with a clean towel. He places it under Johnny’s foot, both watching as it soaks up with blood. “Why are you so scared, anyway?”

Johnny blinks up at him. “I’m sorry but do you think it is okay for a child to see dead birds every single day of their life for two whole years?”

“Well I mean, no but,” he rests back on the heels of his hands, looking up at him. “Has it ever hurt you?”

He looks at him as if Yuta has grown three heads, not really believing what he’s hearing. “Is this a serious question?” Yuta nods, expression unwavering. “It hasn’t, but still.”

“Then why are you so scared?” he repeats his question like it’s that simple, and all Johnny can do is frown at him.

Because honestly, why is he so scared? What is he scared of? The more Yuta stares at him, the more he questions himself, and the more he fails to find an answer to the question. Whatever it was that has lived in his room for the past years has never been hostile towards him per se, but even so he has never really tried to go after it, would much rather choke than get himself involved.

“Are you scared because you can’t see it?” Johnny ponders for a while, nodding once as a response. “Well, Johnny, isn’t that a bit stupid?”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it stupid of you to be afraid of something you can’t see when you spent your entire life being devoted to God?”

It doesn’t sit right in his stomach, and for that too Johnny doesn’t have an answer to. So he just stares at Yuta blankly, not knowing what to say, watching as a smirk blooms on the boy’s lips. He hates it, Yuta’s knowing smile whenever he knows he is right, and Johnny wishes he could punch it off his face.

“Are you staying over?” he asks instead.

Yuta shakes his head, running his fingers through wet locks. “Can’t, my mom doesn’t even know I’m here right now. And I’m pretty sure your mom wouldn’t be very happy to see me here either.”

“Don’t say that,” he mumbles, pressing his heel further into the now damp towel. “It’s not like she hates you or anything.”

“She’s not very fond of me either so,” Yuta gestures vaguely, “I’d rather avoid conflict. Anyways,” he gets on his feet, dusting off his hands on his wet pants. “I better get going. You’re gonna be alright, yeah?” Johnny nods. “Try not to overthink too much? The thing in your closet doesn’t seem to mean any harm, so perhaps try to befriend it instead, I don’t know.”

Johnny can’t even reply before Yuta is out the door and into the rain again, climbing down his house and making his way back home. Johnny sighs, plopping back down on his bed, heart beating a lot slower than it was when he first got home. He listens for the rain tapping against his window and his door, closing his eyes as to better focus on it rather than his own anxiety.

And suddenly he is six again, lying on his bed and listening to the rain all the same, only that it is accompanied by the incessant tapping and scratching and thumping in his ceiling. He remembers all the times he felt scared, completely paralyzed by fear, and then thinks back about Yuta’s words, faintly echoing in his mind. He thinks back to that day in the treehouse, to the reflection in the mirror and to the dead bird by the tree, and even so Johnny cannot recall a moment he has been hurt by any of it.

It was disturbing, absolutely and undeniably so, and if Johnny thinks hard enough he can still smell the rotting leaves and bird corpses. And now he notices how much of a remarkable presence this, whatever it is, has been throughout his life. For sure he would not be the same now hadn’t all that happened to him – perhaps he would be stuck with his mother going to church every day, praying to a deity he doesn’t really believe in to begin with, has done nothing but make him suffer all along.

He slowly opens his eyes, room now completely immersed in darkness, and he doesn’t bother checking his phone for the time. He just lays there, unmoving, staring right up at his ceiling, watching as moonlight dances on the surface, shining in through the glass doors. Everything is silent – from the cricketing of insects to his beating heart, and so he just listens. Listens for anything, everything really, only to find there is nothing there for him.

He can’t move. Not out of fear, not because he is so terrified to move even the slightest, he just finds himself unable to. He tries not to panic, tries not to send his brain straight into overthinking and rather tries to calm himself instead. He is okay, he is fine and he is home and in his room, and he really tries to believe Yuta when he said the thing in his closet means no harm.

Because right now he can feel it, whatever it is, creeping around his room, making itself known, and Johnny knows he isn’t alone. He has always known, though he tried hard to make himself believe it was all in his head like his mother so vehemently tried to – he has always known. It isn’t an unpleasant feeling, like when you know you’re being watched but can’t really see it – it makes his skin tingle and his heart flutter, and he finds anticipation bubbling up his stomach and stopping on the tip of his tongue.

Staring sightlessly into the darkness, silence swelling to fill the space, Johnny finds that the darkness itself feels much like home. It’s an overdue realization, it seems, as he accepts and embraces it, lets it lick over his skin and overtake his senses. He isn’t as afraid as he thought he would be and that should be scary in itself – but it isn’t.

He licks his lips nervously, trying to remember how to speak. “I don’t know who you are,” he tries out, voice cracking a little, “or what you are, to be honest. But if you really mean no harm, then… then that’s okay for me.”

He doesn’t know what it is, if his eyes are playing tricks on him or anything like that, but he is sure he can see the shadows dance around him, move around and closer to his bed, and he braces himself for whatever is to come. He doesn’t expect the gush of wind that blows over him, especially when his doors and window are closed, and he definitely doesn’t expect the feather-like touch that runs over his cheek. It feels like fire rather than ice like he has seen narrated in every horror book he’s read, and his heart starts beating faster than it ever has.

It is an overpowering sense of awareness that gets him on edge as he feels the presence stronger and closer to him than it was before, something threading through his hair and making his eyes flutter close again. He waits – he waits and listens and feels it all, and he is surprised to realize he doesn’t feel scared by one bit.

Just as soon as it comes it goes away, and it all comes back to him like a punch to the face. He can hear too much, feel too much and it is disorienting to suddenly feel so much. He jolts up and sits upright in his bed, looking around for something – _anything_. He feels around for his phone, the bright light blinding him for a second as his clock flashes him the time – it’s well past midnight. He sighs, running a hand over his face and through his hair in utter frustration before getting up and making his way to the bathroom. He belatedly realizes he feels nothing on his heel – no pain nor the ghost feeling of the thorn that was once lodged up his foot.

 

📿

 

The overpowering smell of food fills up his nostrils as he makes his way downstairs. It is the familiar smell of his mother’s homemade garlic glazed salmon – a dish she only ever prepares in special occasions – that makes him frown. It isn’t his birthday, nor her birthday or a special holiday or anything, and he finds confusion leading his way to the kitchen.

“Mom?” he hesitates by the door, eyeing the ridiculous amount of pots and pans on the stove. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Johnny my dear, I see you’re feeling better!” she quickly looks up at him, a smile blooming on her lips, and he cracks an awkward one of his own. “Could you please pass me the pepper shaker?”

He takes careful steps into the kitchen, eyes everything carefully as if trying to commit the image to memory. His mother beams up at him when he finally passes her the pepper, and he lingers around long enough to know something is definitely up. She never really goes this out of her way to make food for them – not because she doesn’t want to, but because there is no need to.

She pauses her ministrations when she notices he isn’t moving, giving him a puzzled look.

“Do you want anything, dear?” her voice is sickly sweet and Johnny absolutely knows something is _definitely_ up with her.

“Yeah, actually,” he gestures vaguely towards the stove. “What’s all this for?”

She turns around to look at the boiling pots as if she has no idea what he is talking about. When she turns back around, there is an expression of sudden realization on her face. “Oh, right! A friend of mine is coming over for dinner tonight so I’m making a little more than what we usually have.”

A _little_ more?

“A friend?” he asks instead, not quite recalling the last time his mother mentioned any _friends_ to him.

She nods, humming a tune to a song Johnny has never heard before. “He goes to church as well, a pretty funny guy. I think you’ll like him.”

He taps his finger on the counter a couple times before huffing and making his way out, the faint voice of his mother saying she will call him down when it’s dinner time a mere background noise. He doesn’t like how that sits in his stomach and under his skin, a voice in the back of his head telling him he has the right to be upset. He tries not to give it much attention, choosing to take a shower and get decently dressed instead.

No amount of prepping could have prepared him for the rush of emotions that hits him once dinner time finally rolls around. The house is oddly well lit – he is pretty sure his mother changed every single lightbulb in the house, for he didn’t even know it could be this bright inside – and there is an unfamiliar scent in the air. It’s not the food, that he knows all too well, and as he rounds the corner of the living room he sees the air freshener bottle hiding behind their barely used television.

It doesn’t feel like his own home. With everything lit so brightly like this, he can see the disturbing amount of crosses his mother has scattered around the house, from the walls to every other flat surface available, and it makes his guts stir in the wrong way. He feels like a stranger in his own house, his mother’s humming traveling through the rooms and reaching his ears and he can’t even remember the last time he hard her sing at all.

He almost runs into the wall when he reaches the dining room. His mother is dressed in a knee length purple wool dress, the fabric making it look like it could possibly itch a lot and he can’t stop his hand from scratching his own arm. Despite how uncomfortable it looks, she looks classy. He isn’t ignorant not to know it’s a classic vintage style, with a matching suit over it decorated with black and gold and just from looking at it he knows it’s from a very, very expensive brand. Her neck and ears are decorated with pearls he has only seen once before – inside her jewelry box, a gift from his father, he’s been told.

She looks beautiful like he doesn’t remember ever seeing her, and as she skips to the door when the bell rings, quickly telling him to wait by the dining room, Johnny feels something inside him twist. The man standing on his doorway is anything but handsome, one of those hot dads Johnny could possibly have a teenage crush on – he is tall, bone structure just perfect, jaw so sharp it could probably cut someone and the most luscious hair he has ever seen.

And _oh_ is he charming, Johnny can see it in the way he smiles at his mother, handing her a small bouquet of flowers that had probably costed a fortune, voice dripping like honey as they chat away. He can see his charm ooze off him as they make their way inside and into the dining room, as he shakes Johnny’s hand so firmly he thinks he could have broken a couple bones, as they sit and his mother formally introduces one another.

But something isn’t right, and even though Johnny can’t really tell what it is, he knows something isn’t right. Perhaps it’s the tingling on the tips of his fingers or the cold feeling on the nape of his neck, or how he watches in utter disgust as his mother blatantly flirts with the guy right in front of him, smiling and laughing like she’s never really done before. Maybe it’s the way he can’t help but notice the way he keeps staring at her pearl necklace, complimenting it even, and Johnny has to bite his own tongue to stop himself from saying it was a gift from his father.

Anger boils in his stomach, makes him feel nauseous and completely clouds his senses. He’s stopped listening to the conversation long ago, focusing on trying to will the bad feeling away instead – only to have it come back stronger than it was when it all started. It’s the voice in the back of his head telling him that this is wrong, that this shouldn’t be happening, that he doesn’t have to accept it if he doesn’t want to. And Johnny doesn’t know if he wants it or not, but he knows he doesn’t like the way the man sitting right across from him looks at his mother. He doesn’t like it one bit.

He isn’t being overprotective of his own mother. She is an adult and knows better than him, that he is sure of. He doesn’t notice the lights around them blink, doesn’t notice the temperature drop in the room – that one not even his mother and her so called _friend_ seem to notice, chatting about how absolutely delectable the salmon is, what a lovely house they have, is it tough raising a teenager on her own? Johnny notices the golden glint on his ring finger.

And then the man in front of him stops talking mid-chew, head slowly turning from his mother to himself, pitch black eyes trained on him. Or not _on him,_ really, but rather somewhere behind him he doesn’t bother turning around to check. The room is getting colder and he finally notices a shiver run down his spine, and the fire burning inside him feels so, so good.

The light goes out for a moment and Johnny can see the shadows move around him, dance tauntingly towards the table and for the first time in too long he prays – prays for all this to be over as soon as possible.

When the lights go on again the only thing he can hear is his mother’s mortified shriek, the only thing he can _see_ is the man in front of him, looking so startled it could be pretty comic wasn’t for the blood dripping down his lips. On his plate, displayed like a piece of art, is a dead bird – head disconnected from its body, blood pooling all around. Johnny watches as he coughs up blood, watches his mother’s despair grow, watches as the man leaves as his mother tails after him.

That night, as Johnny lies on his bed, wide smile on his lips, he decides he might as well start praying again.

 

**iv. lilith**

Johnny has heard plenty about love – from the books, the movies, the people around him. He has heard plenty about love that blooms with spring just like flowers, about feeling like you are being swept off your feet, at being so high on cloud-nine that all you can do is feel, feel and _feel._ Johnny has heard of a love so warm it makes your insides tingle, has you giddy and expectant and all that cliché stuff one hears throughout their entire life.

Johnny’s love does not come in any of those forms. It blooms like winter jasmines, remarkable but unscented, winter wind biting cold at his cheeks. Johnny’s love makes him feel like he’s on edge, constantly on fire, and it’s a thrill in his life he didn’t really know he needed. Meeting Taeil was like waves crashing. At the time, he didn’t really know what was coming – it could be a small wave or perhaps a big one. They are nothing alike, they don’t see the same people, they don’t do the same things – their crash had something new coming out of it, and Johnny sees in him an opportunity to expand his horizons and explore deeper seas.

Taeil is many of his firsts. His first ditching at school, his first drink and first smoke; Taeil is his gate to freedom, and Johnny clings to it with claws and teeth. He feels like he could do anything shielded away from his mother’s judging eyes, like he can be someone completely new. He feels like he has been dead all those years he spent locked up inside his house, and now he finally, _finally_ feels alive.

It’s on a rather cold day, when his mother is out of town for the weekend in promises she will be back by Monday, that Johnny sneaks up on Taeil after class and invites him over. Taeil has a cigar between his lips, nicotine puffs clouding the air between them as they sit on a bench behind school grounds. Johnny takes it from his lips and takes a drag of his own, watching as Taeil raises his eyebrows at him in amusement.

“Isn’t your house forbidden grounds for us?” his voice is rough and he coughs before speaking up again, taking the cigar back when Johnny hands it to him. “Because of your mom and all that?”

“She went out of town for the weekend,” he shrugs, watching with amusement as realization dawns on Taeil's face. “We would have the house for ourselves.”

“Oh,” he says faintly, ashes falling on top of his boots. “Oh that sounds perfect.”

Taeil lets the cigar fall off his fingers, crushes it with his heel before turning back to him and bringing his hand to the back of his neck. Johnny smiles at him and gets one twice as big in return, eyes easily fluttering shut as the hand pulls him in. The day is cold, so cold Johnny shivers inside his jacket, but Taeil's lips on his are warm like the sun, fingers setting his skin alight wherever he touches.

He parts his lips with ease, Taeil's tongue on his just as pleasant as the first time they kissed inside a bathroom stall on the second floor. Kissing Taeil is just like loving him – like poison, slipping under his skin, invading his blood and seizing his heart. If Taeil tried to slip him actual poison Johnny is sure he would take it without a second of hesitation, skin buzzing to try new things.

They are only a year apart and yet he feels like his boyfriend has lived so much, done so much for someone who’s only seventeen. Or maybe Johnny is the one who hasn’t lived enough, seen or done enough for someone his age, always locked up in the confines of his room being forced to pray. Maybe this is really all Johnny ever needed: a dose of sin in his sanctified life.

Taeil pulls him by the hand and towards the parking lot, stepping over puddles and making water splash on his pants. He would complain didn’t he feel himself turn putty in his hands, letting him drag him across the field even though Johnny easily towers over him. Taeil punches the heater on as soon as they’re inside, rubbing his hands together in order to warm himself up.

“You sure about this?” he asks Johnny with a cautious smile, a new glint in his eyes.

“Wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t.”

Taeil nods, pulling out of the parking lot carefully, trying not to run any students over. The ride shouldn’t take long but Taeil chooses to take his sweet time driving, so Johnny opts to fumble with the radio until he finds something he likes. Their town has terrible radio reception and all songs end up choppy, but he can easily recognize the instrumental of a rock song the both of them like.

He sits back and tries to relax, Taeil's godsent voice singing perfectly along to the lyrics. He puts one hand inside the pocket of his jacket and carefully slips the other over Taeil's thigh and between his legs, smiling to himself when the car sways on the road a little. He can see Taeil look at him from the corner of his eyes but he doesn’t turn to look back at him, hums in contentment when the other brings his thighs together and warms him up a little.

He waits until Taeil is fully focused on the road again, softly humming and singing along to the song before putting his fingers to work, groping and massaging his inner thigh lightly, listening to his voice crack a little. He feels the other sink further down his seat, spread his legs a little wider and breathe a little harsher, and Johnny can’t help but smile to himself.

The car starts to slow down and Johnny frowns, turning on his seat to stare at Taeil. The other is frowning just as much, thighs clenching around Johnny’s hand. He retracts his hand and there is the ghost of a whine rolling off Taeil's tongue that soon turns into a loud curse when the car comes to a complete stop.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Johnny asks, confused, hands flying to grip around his seatbelt.

“I’m not _fucking_ _doing_ anything!” Taeil snaps back, fire in his eyes when he looks at back him. “Stupid fucking car just stopped working!”

He sighs, hitting his head against the headrest. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Fuck, Johnny, I really wish I could be kidding right now,” he sounds completely annoyed and Johnny honestly shouldn’t blame him, but he can’t help but glare at him for his tone. “Listen, I’m sorry okay! I’m annoyed!”

“No shit sherlock,” he mutters under his breath.

Taeil gets out of the car with a huff, letting cold air inside the vehicle. Johnny shrinks into himself as best as he can, trying to stay warm as Taeil looks around.

“Let’s just push it over there,” he motions to a stone fence, bending down to look at him. “I’ll come back for it later.”

Johnny wishes he could say pushing a dead car is as easy as they make it seem in the movies, but they are barely off the road and he can already feel sweat trickle down his sideburns. They are just lucky that not a single car passes by to help them, cold air drying up their nostrils and throats as they struggle to get Taeil's car out of the way.

“Of course this had to be it,” Taeil sighs, looking somewhere past Johnny. He turns to look around and a shiver runs down his spine.

Johnny easily recognizes the irregular stone fence, the overgrown driveway, the columns and friezes and the twenty feet high windows. Once again he can’t help but stare at it, still just as amazed at how misplaced the entire property feels. Taeil coughs, bringing his attention back to him.

“Do you hear that?” Taeil's voice is a quiet whisper.

He stops to pay attention, listening closely to whatever it is Taeil is talking about. But there is nothing to be heard, and so he frowns.

“Hear what?” he whispers back, as if trying not to disturb whatever he was supposed to be hearing.

“Exactly,” he gestures to the house. “Fucking nothing. This place is so creepy.”

This time, Johnny doesn’t feel dread hit him and overtake his senses. He walks around the car instead, slipping his hand into Taeil's hold and intertwining their fingers together. He smiles down at the boy, placing a peck on the crown of his head, and Taeil pulls him just a little bit closer.

“Are you scared?” Johnny teases him, earning a punch to the guts that makes him laugh. “Do you even know what happened to the previous owners? I’ve always wanted to know.”

Taeil hums, scraping his foot on the muddied dirt under them. “It was right before you moved, I think? I was so young back then but… the woman and her child died in there, and no one knows how to this day.”

“Fuck, are you for real?” he can feel his eyes bulge.

Taeil nods. “When questioned about it, the cops in charge avoided the topic at all costs so eventually people stopped asking.” He stares at the house for a few moments in complete silence before getting on his tippy toes to whisper right at his ear. “Rumor has it that it was all part of a ritual or something and the cops were trying to cover it up.”

Johnny tries not to burst out laughing at how serious his boyfriend sounds. He tightens his fingers instead, rubs his cheek on his hair before tugging him on. It’s colder than he thought it would be outside, and he definitely doesn’t want to sit around and wait for the both of them to catch a cold. It’s a long walk until they finally reach his house, and halfway through it Taeil slips a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

He can feel how cold his fingers are even through the thick fabric of his pants, and instead of pushing him away Johnny opens his jacket instead, wrapping it over Taeil's shoulder. It’s harder to walk like this but he pays it no mind, Taeil's body warmth helping him get through the cold. They don’t talk much; Taeil is humming to some song Johnny knows he has heard it before but can’t quite recall the name, listening to his boyfriend and the bustling nature around them.

The house is quiet when he unlocks the door and the feeling is only a tad bit unfamiliar, not really used to his mother not being around doing something. Taeil hesitates behind him, taking a careful look around before even stepping inside. Johnny watches with amusement as he squats down to untie his boots, leaving it right next to the door in order not to get dirt all over the place.

“Why do you have so many crosses around?” he asks from the floor, still not looking up. Johnny thinks it sounds more like a passing thought that shouldn’t have been vocalized, but he shrugs in return.

“It’s my mom. She’s very… devoted, you could say.”

“And you were raised like that, too?” his tone isn’t accusatory when he gets on his feet to look him in the eyes. Johnny shrugs again. “I’m not judging you or anything, it must’ve been hard.”

He reaches behind Taeil and turns the heating system on, fingers falling to the nape of his neck and bringing him closer. “I don’t think we’re here to pity party on my childhood.”

“Yeah,” Taeil whispers, knocking their foreheads together, hot breath ghosting over his lips. “We’re not.”

Johnny lets his lips hover over the other’s until he can’t take the teasing anymore and closes the gap between them himself, a smile playing on his lips as Taeil smashes them together. He trails kisses from Taeil's lips to his jaw and down to his neck, softly biting at the skin and making him gasp. Johnny smirks, bites on a different place and Taeil buries his hand into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. And then he detaches himself from the older, smirks again when Taeil tries to chase his lips, holds his hand and leads him up to his room.

Taeil kisses him again the second Johnny closes the door behind him, hotter and wetter this time, tongue licking every inch inside his mouth. Johnny moans softly into the kiss, hands grabbing Taeil's jacket and pulling it off with ease. Taeil does the same, pulls on Johnny’s until it falls off his shoulders and onto the floor, the soft thud of the heavy material inaudible over their desperate panting. And then he is pulling Johnny towards his bed, hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt and the button of his pants. Johnny tries not to laugh, gently peels his hands off and does it himself, giving Taeil time to do the same with his own clothing.

He lets himself fall on his mattress with a huff, Taeil straddling his hips and bending down to kiss him again shortly after, shirt discarded somewhere on his bedroom floor. He is absolutely breathtaking; of course Johnny already knew that, but seeing him like this, shirtless on top of him, lips swollen red from kissing – it drives him absolutely mad. He reaches up to tangle his fingers in his hair, pull him close, closer and closer and he can feel Taeil's tongue so deep down his throat he can’t help but whimper.

His heart feels like it’s going to beat itself out of his chest with how hard and fast it’s beating, his breathing labored as Taeil grabs the hem of his shirt and starts tugging it off. He sits up for a moment, allowing Taeil to pull it off completely. And Taeil just sits there, too, eyes roaming the expanse of his chest, ice cold fingers reaching up to trace his skin. Johnny reaches for his hands and brings his fingers up to his lips, kissing each knuckle and the pads ever so softly. Taeil smiles brightly at him.

“Are you sure about this?” his tone is serious and Johnny is close to saying a snarky remark, but instead he nods at him. Taeil tilts his head to the side a little, eyes searching his face. “I need you to tell me you want this, Johnny.”

“Yes, Moonie,” he pulls the other closer, lips ghosting over his collarbones, “I want this.” A pause, his tongue licking over the skin, making Taeil melt over him. “I want you.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, slowly pushing Johnny flat against the mattress again. He smiles down at him again and Johnny’s heart does a flip.

“I’m the one supposed to be nervous,” he laughs out when Taeil just looks at him, unmoving. “What am I supposed to do when you’re like this?”

“I’m not nervous,” he retorts after a second too long. He goes straight for his neck, tongue lapping the skin, nibbling softly at it. “You’re beautiful,” he mumbles against him and Johnny can feel himself blush.

“Stop talking,” Johnny breathes out, fingers curling on the back of his neck yet again.

Taeil does so, lips locking to his once more, tongue licking across his lower lip. There is no rush in the way Taeil kisses him this time, no rush in the way he lets his tongue explore every curve of his mouth, the way he kisses him so sweetly it makes his head spin. Taeil's body is a comfortable weight on top of him as he lets his body lower, bare chests pressing together. It’s nice, it feels nice, and Johnny tentatively runs his hands down his back, stopping on the curve of his ass.

He moans into Johnny’s mouth, spreading his legs just a little bit wider to slot their hips perfectly together, pushing back against his hands before slightly grinding down on him. Johnny gasps, slipping his hands into Taeil's jeans, grabbing his ass over his boxers and relishing in the way Taeil moans into his mouth again. He gropes harder, pressing the other against him, absolutely loving the pressure it puts on his hardening dick.

Johnny probably wouldn’t have noticed the power going out wasn’t it for the flicker on his bedside lamp before it goes out and the sudden drop of temperature in his room that makes goosebumps raise on both of their skins. He can feel Taeil shiver, can feel himself shiver as well, but that doesn’t stop Taeil's hips from working, heating up his skin with his own body warmth, a thin layer of sweat covering his chest and back. He barely notices his balcony door cracked open, cold air blowing inside his room, doesn’t really have the energy to stop his ministrations to go and close it.

Taeil parts away briefly, a string of saliva connecting their lips. That would have made Johnny laugh in any other occasion, but instead he watches with hazy eyes as Taeil shimmies his pants off with a lot more struggle than he would be proud to admit, fingers working on pulling Johnny’s off as well right after. Taeil's smile is blinding, makes Johnny’s heart race and his guts twist, his skin buzzing with anticipation as Taeil takes too long to get back into his bed.

He spreads Johnny’s legs apart, fitting himself comfortably between them, lightly kissing up his chest and neck and kissing under his jaw where he knows Johnny is particularly sensitive. Johnny arches his back off the mattress out of reflex, a moan choked up on his throat as Taeil tongues at the skin. It makes his head spin, nails digging into the other’s shoulders and raking down his back, red swollen streaks left in its wake.

Taeil moans against him, kisses his neck again, leaving a purple hickey there this time around, slowly making his way down his chest. He has never felt so open, so vulnerable before, and he doesn’t really mind it when Taeil's tongue is like fire on his body, lips and teeth marking his chest all over, tongue toying with a pert nipple making his moan rise in volume. He can feel him smirk against him as he makes his way to the other nipple to do the same, fingers lightly pinching and rolling the unattended one.

Johnny can now clearly feel the temperature drop. His body involuntarily shivers, goosebumps raising all over his skin as he reaches down to thread his fingers through Taeil's hair. He can see the other shiver too, can feel it against his body and Johnny rocks his hips in hopes of warming them up. Taeil groans, keeps on kissing down his chest and over his stomach, momentarily stopping on his bellybutton to tease him ever so slightly.

And as Taeil inches lower and lower he can feel himself shake harder, though he doesn’t really know if it’s from the cold or anticipation or both. He can feel Taeil's breath over his clothed dick, the tip of his nose cold even through the fabric of his boxers as the other noses along the outline of it, and Johnny nearly cries out when he just keeps on going lower.

“Taeil,” he whines, high pitched and annoying but Taeil doesn’t even respond, only gently spreads his thighs wider and keeps on going.

His lips on his inner thigh are ice cold, a contrast to how hot his tongue is as it licks up the skin he has just kissed. It’s a rather satisfying contrast that sets Johnny on edge, breathless moans leaving his lips as Taeil nibbles on the skin. Johnny can feel the energy around him shift; it’s almost unnoticeable, and he wouldn’t have really noticed wasn’t for the familiar hints of anger trying to bubble up his stomach. Though it doesn’t brim, be it for how good he currently feels or something else, it’s still there and he doesn’t know what to do.

It’s conflicting more than anything else, to have Taeil kiss and mark up the insides of his thighs while wanting to scream at the same time. He tries not to let it boil, pleasure coursing through his veins harder than anything else, so when the lamp on his bedside table just shatters and sends shards of glass flying all over he does actually scream.

And so does Taeil, scrambling off Johnny so fast as Johnny sits up they barely notice the movement. They are both staring at the now ruined lamp, hearts beating loud in their ears, and Johnny grips the sheets underneath him so tightly his knuckles go white.

“What the fuck,” Taeil screams, looking at Johnny and then at the lamp and back at Johnny again. “What the fuck!”

“Fuck are you hurt?” he anxiously asks when the initial shock is gone. He can’t really see major injuries, so he can only hope Taeil is completely fine. The other shakes his head.

“Some small cuts aren’t the problem,” he gestures to the broken lamp. “What the _fuck_ , Johnny?”

“I don’t know either, okay!” he reaches out for Taeil's arm, coaxing him over. “It could have been a short-circuit or something? I don’t fucking know.”

“Right,” he breathes out, and as Johnny pulls him into his chest, skin against skin, he can feel Taeil's heart racing. He looks up at Johnny, eyes still wavering with too many emotions, and all Johnny can bring himself to do is cup his face and bring him in for a kiss.

It’s slow and lazy at first, their tongues sliding against each other with familiarity as they try to calm down. Taeil breaks when Johnny rolls his hips against him, still hard cock rubbing against his own erection, and Taeil is the one whining this time around. Johnny swallows each one of them with another kiss, as fervent and deeper than the last one.

He lets his back hit the mattress once again, watching in anticipation as Taeil travels down his body, fingernails scraping his skin ever so slightly. It feels good; it feels so fucking good, every touch of his boyfriend on him, every touch of his lips over his hips, the way his fingers play with he hem of his boxers and just _stay there,_ teasing, taunting. Johnny wants to urge him on, for he has wanted this for far too long now but he keeps quiet instead, his little whines the only sound leaving his lips.

When he looks down again Taeil is smirking at him, smirking at how eager he is and Johnny wishes he could bury himself alive in embarrassment. Instead, he threads his fingers through his chocolate locks, hoping his pleading eyes will be enough to make him understand what he is trying to convey. Taeil lets his cold fingers dip in as he starts to pull the fabric out, and Johnny can feel himself flush at how slow he goes. It’s like he is putting on a show for himself, and Johnny chooses not to interfere.

It feels relieving to finally have his dick freed from the confines of his boxers, and the cold rush of air that hits him does little to shake him. He is focused on how absolutely gorgeous Taeil looks between his legs, pink tongue running over plush lips as his eyes rake his entire naked body. There is a glint there Johnny has never really seen before, and his skin buzzes as those eyes focus back on his dick.

Taeil holds him by the base, fingers tight and cold making him shiver. He flicks his wrist tentatively, watching closely for Johnny’s every reaction, as if trying to learn what he likes best. Johnny just lets him explore, every twist of his hand around his cock making his body ignite, every breath against the tip making him squirm. Johnny doesn’t know if Taeil plans on giving him head or not and Taeil doesn’t say anything in regards either, and it’s driving him crazy not knowing what’s coming next.

Johnny whines, loud and clear, when Taeil lets go of his dick. He chuckles at his clear desperation, and Johnny would definitely push him off his bed wasn’t for his hands reaching for the back of his thighs, gently pushing them up. Taeil then looks up at him and all Johnny can do is stare back. He pushes his legs further up and it’s only then that Johnny gets the message, hands hooking under his knees to hold them in place.

Taeil dips down again, this time missing his dick entirely and Johnny shakes, blood rushing from his brain to his groin and making him dizzy. He lays his tongue flat on Johnny’s perineum, slowly licking up and over his balls, drawing a long, loud moan from the younger. He does it again, just as painfully slow, and Johnny’s thighs quiver under his hands.

Perhaps this is torture, Johnny thinks to himself. For Taeil to have so much power, to leave him unable to move, to breathe, to speak. It is torture until it isn’t, Taeil dragging his tongue lower until he is lapping over his rim, still as slow as he can be, and Johnny knows he is going to lose his mind at any given second.

He can still feel that subdued anger under his skin, trying to surface and make him lose it. But pleasure overpowers everything else, makes him see white when Taeil literally kisses his ass, wetting him as much as he can. Johnny doesn’t recall the last time he was this vocal with anything in his life, and his moans drown out the filthy noises Taeil makes against him. He should know better than to ignore his gut feeling about this, but all he can focus on is how good Taeil's tongue feels on his ass.

Taeil pushes his tongue past his rim and Johnny can feel his lungs constrict at the whine he lets out, finally allowing his muscles to fully relax. It feels better than he could have ever imagined – and _oh_ had he imagined that frequent as of lately. When his mother told him she would be out of town for the weekend he saw the perfect opportunity, and Taeil reminds him what a _good_ opportunity this is as he pushes his tongue deeper into him.

Taeil eats him out like his life depends on it, and Johnny tries not to think about how many people he’s done this to before. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Johnny is his boyfriend now, and they’re together, and though they met like ice or waves clashing, their energy is like melting lava, hot and fluid. Johnny can barely think, his brain only running over how good and wet he feels, the tightening in his stomach and the numbing of his toes and fingers.

He should have known better. He really should have seen this coming, but the white spotting his vision probably didn’t let him see it. He is close, so close, his moans raising in volume and his desperation only growing, and he lets go of his legs to bury his hands in Taeil's hair and all he can feel is his soul leaving his body as the pendant on his ceiling falls with the loudest noise he has ever heard.

It misses his bed and subsequently misses hitting Taeil by too little, and this time Taeil does fall off his bed from shock. Johnny jolts up again, sitting up and looking down at Taeil where he is sitting on the floor, color completely drained from his face as he panickily pants, staring at the shattered pendant lying on the floor. He gets up without a word, collecting his clothes that had been scattered across the room and starts dressing himself up. Johnny feels like absolute shit.

“Taeil, wait,” he tries, still out of breath. He can’t string words together to form a coherent sentence. “ _Wait_.”

“No,” he shoots back, dryly. His lips are shiny from spit, but color still takes long to return to his face. “Fuck, no. I could’ve died, I’m not in the mood anymore.”

“Can’t you at least stay here with me?” he tries, desperate at the thought of being left alone like this.

“Listen, Johnny, I really like you and all but this,” he gestures between them, “is clearly not going to happen today if it’s up to your house.” He searches around, checking if he isn’t forgetting anything, and then goes towards the door. Johnny wants death. “We can meet up tomorrow or something but I think I really should get going now.”

He leaves just like that, and Johnny can hear the front door slam shut all the way up from his bedroom. He stares at the mess around him – shattered glass from both his lamp and pendant scattered across his floor, and he can’t help but sigh. It’s cold, almost unbearably so, and he is still so hard it hurts. He lets his body fall back yet again, screaming in frustration, and that’s when the power decides to come back on.

It’s almost frustrating the way his room warms up just as Taeil leaves, but he tries not to think about that. He focuses on his aching boner instead, wrapping his fingers around it and groaning at the feeling from how sensitive he is. It’s utterly unsatisfying, to have his own hand fisting himself instead of Taeil's, to be the one trying to get himself off instead of someone else.

This is easily the most unsatisfying orgasm he has ever had, his muscles aching when he comes, cum sticking to his skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. He just lies there for a while, chest heaving and cheeks flushed, and he finally allows that anger boil up his guts. He can’t hear a single thing – the rain tapping on his window, his own breathing, nothing. Everything is red and he feels like exploding.

He carries himself to the bathroom with heavy footsteps instead, running a bath to calm his nerves. The water is warm against his fire hot skin, and Johnny lets his body soak up for way longer than he actually needed. He can’t get Taeil's look out of his mind, the image burning behind his closed eyelids, and he wishes he hadn’t just gone like that.

Can he blame him, though? The only reason Johnny barely flinches at the stunts being pulled on the daily in his house is because he has lived there his whole life. He dries himself up in front of the mirror right above his sink, mindful but still choosing to ignore the dark shadow lurking right behind him in his reflection.

He doesn’t even flinch when he walks back into his room only to find a dead bird on his bed, blood pooling where the severed head is detached from the body.


	2. act ii

**v. mania**

Relationships come and go. Johnny learns that the hard way and it takes him far too long to heal from heartbreak. When Taeil announces he is moving away in the summer for college, the news hit him like a truck and leaves him essentially empty. Instead of enjoying the time they still have together, he decides it's best to break up and go their separate ways because he knows it will hurt less this way.

When he lies in bed to sleep, even days after it happens, Johnny still can’t forget the look in Taeil's eyes. Heartbreak doesn’t look good on anyone.

 

📿

 

And even as summer rolls around with longer days and shorter nights and grass greener than the usual, the clouds still don’t leave the sky. It's hot and humid and Johnny hates everything about summer, from the way his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin to how stuffy his entire house feels. At least he doesn’t have to deal with his mother barging into his room every other second ever since she got a job out of town.

It is while lying on his front yard while watching the sun set and bleed into night that he sees the familiar figure walk past his house, quick stride taking him down the street. Johnny doesn’t have the energy to get up and follow him, bones feeling like they have left his body for good. It is the urge stirring in the pit of his stomach that makes him get on his feet, though, toss his shirt over his head and follow the boy once again.

This time, he doesn’t run. There is no rush, only his body carrying him down the familiar path, brain buzzing numb to whatever tune the boy in front of him is humming. He tries to be quiet, stays a couple steps behind as to not be heard. If the boy notices his presence he doesn’t make it known.

By the time Johnny notices the old mansion approaching it is way past sunset, and the initial fear he felt all those years ago nothing but a faint memory. Now he feels absolutely nothing as he stands by the broken gate, watching the boy nearly skip towards the house, hair bouncing in his step.

The moment the boy pushes the front door open Johnny starts walking towards the house, following the same path the other has done not a minute ago. Now he notices how beaten the path is, probably from being constantly stepped on, most likely by the same person and Johnny wonders how often the other comes here. The floorboards creak under his weight as he makes his way towards the front door, barely peeking inside through the crack left open.

When he pushes the door open he half expects it to creak in its hinges like most aged up doors and windows do, but instead he is greeted with nothing. The door is heavy as it opens, the interior greeting him almost too eerily. With how cold the house feels Johnny almost forgets it is midsummer.

There is no sound in the house, not even the sounds that houses make: air-conditioning, or furnace, or the stairwell creaking; nothing but a silence that seems to have been thickening since he walked up to the front porch. Velvet drapes frame the windows and the lace inner curtains remain drawn, allowing natural light to enter. Though it is to no avail now, moonlight doing little to nothing to illuminate further than five feet ahead of him.

He follows down a corridor, unsure of where the boy has gone to but trusting his gut feeling will take him to the right place. It does, and as he rounds a corner and into an open room, he stops dead in his tracks when he realizes the boy isn’t alone.

He can’t hear a single thing, voices not being carried through the room, and he doesn’t even try to listen. All he can do is watch the boy kneel in front of the other one, head hung low only for a moment before he looks right up at him. And the other one, with his inky black hair and slender fingers, smiles right at him, lips moving to words Johnny can’t hear. He is frozen in place but he knows it is not out of fear. Curiosity maybe, but definitely not out of fear.

They are close enough for Johnny to know they are beautiful. Beautiful is probably the only word he can think of other than drop dead _gorgeous_. With delicate yet remarkable features, Johnny knows he has never seen anyone quite like them before. And then the unfamiliar figures moves, swift and gracious and Johnny asks himself if he could possibly be an angel.

He kneels down in front of the boy in similar fashion like the other, fingers ghosting over his hair before he settles them down on his thighs. And Johnny finally notices the red cape over his body, covering mostly everything. He doesn’t see it happen of where it comes from – either from being too focused or straight up zoning out, he wouldn’t know, – but the boy that led him to this very place places a rabbit between them and Johnny doesn’t notice his stomach freeze in apprehension.

The rabbit’s ears are flat against its head, tail wiggling nervously as his fingers scratch behind its ear. He looks up at the black haired boy, lips moving in what Johnny supposes is a question, and the other reaches up to place his hand on the rabbit’s neck. He makes a quick motion with his finger across its skin, and Johnny shouldn’t be getting aroused at any of this because he doesn’t even know what’s going on, but he is.

The other nods and then there is a knife in his hand, the rabbit getting agitated at their movements. He can’t look away; can’t look away from the glistening of the silver blade, can’t look away from the way he presses the rabbit hard against the wooden floor, can’t look away from the silver suddenly cutting the rabbit up and the blood splashing up against their chests and cheeks.

It is the absolutely sadistic smile blooming over both their faces that gets to him and trips him over, makes his head spin and his heart race. And he still can’t look away, especially not when there are fingers reaching up to the boy’s face and cupping his cheeks, thumbs smearing the blood all over the place. Especially not when he leans in and seals their lips together, and the kiss is so slow and methodic Johnny thinks he might lose his damn mind.

The first thing he hears is the drop of the knife on hardwood floor, its blade glistening red against the moonlight shining into the room. And then he hears the panting, the desperation in their breaths, and his dick sits uncomfortably in his underwear as he watches them. He decides it is his time to leave when the boy is pressed down on the floor, blood pooling at their knees and dirtying up their clothes as they press their bodies together.

He considers calling Yuta once he gets home, considers inviting him over and talking to him about it. But something doesn’t let him do it, and though it takes him hours of sitting in the dark until he realizes he has felt that energy before, he still doesn’t know what to think of all that. The image of the blood smearing those two boys, who probably are no older than him, burn vivid in his memory and he half expects to be kept awake at night by it.

He doesn’t expect sleep to come so easily but it does, and as his mind drifts off and everything blacks out around him Johnny finally finds his peace of mind after so long.

 

📿

 

He tries not to make it his summer vacation schedule but he can’t help but follow the boy down the road every time he sees him pass by his house. He hasn’t seen the black haired boy ever since that day and he tries not to let it get to him, though he can’t shake off the feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about it.

It is one of the rare days the sky is spotless with clouds, and the sun is scorching hot under his head as he sits by the front gate. It has been well over an hour since he got to the mansion, and instead of going in he chose to sit out and wait. A bad choice, he realizes, as the sun burns his skin and warms up the grass under his ass, makes him uncomfortable in his clothes as he waits.

He can hear a door cracking and the flapping of bird wings, and when he doesn’t see the front door open to reveal the boy, he gets on his feet and stalks towards the house. He walks straight past the front porch, choosing to make his way around to see what’s on the other side. His only contact with the property has been with its entrance, and curiosity drags him around and all the way to the back.

He is glad he does, for he is greeted with the very familiar boy squatting down near a cracked up fountain that Johnny is fairly sure hadn’t been used in years until now. His golden locks shine under the sun, and so does the blood staining his skin and diluting in the water.

Johnny doesn’t expect confidence to watch over him but his words come out before he can even think to stop himself. “Hey.”

The boy startles at his voice, dropping the knife he is holding into the water and looking a little distressed. He frowns at Johnny, barely sparing him a glance before looking down into the water to fetch his knife.

“What are you doing here?” Johnny doesn’t expect his voice to be so deep and he tries not to think about how it makes him feel things.

“Right back at you,” he tries to sound casual, hands digging into his pockets to try and make him _look_ casual, but it is unsettling how quiet the other is.

They don’t say anything for a while, the boy focused on scrubbing the blood off his arms and hands and getting his knife pristine clean, not bothered in the slightest that Johnny watches him with hawk eyes. Johnny can see where his white shirt stains with blood.

“I’m Johnny,” he tries again, the boy’s ears perking up in interest – or so he thinks. He tries pressing on. “And you are…?”

“Sicheng,” he says flatly, still not looking up. He repeats himself. “What are you doing here?”

“Wandering,” he thinks, “watching.”

“That much I know,” Johnny thinks he sounds annoyed but he tries not to look too much into it. “I see you every time. I know you think I don’t, but I do.”

“You’re cool,” he says without thinking. He tries not to mind it when his cheeks flare up as the boy looks up at him, cocking his head to the side. “Can I watch?”

Sicheng squints his eyes at him before focusing back on his work. “Aren’t you doing that already?”

“Touché.”

He pads over to the fountain mindlessly, sitting down on its cracked edge, hoping it won’t crack any further under his weight. He watches as the water goes from transparent to fading red, as Sicheng's hands and blade are finally clean and the only vivid blood he can see is the one staining his clothes. The other doesn’t talk to him unless spoken to, and Johnny finds he doesn’t mind it by one bit.

“I’m assuming you don’t go to school here?” he tries, licking his lips as Sicheng's runs his fingers over his knife’s blade. “Haven’t really seen you around there.”

“Yes, you would be correct to assume that,” he mumbles, closing the knife off and pocketing it without much thought. “Why do you care?”

Johnny shrugs. “Just curious.”

Sicheng sighs in annoyance when he doesn’t say anything else or gives a sign that he is going to move. He gets on his feet, fingers tracing the blood on his white button-up. “What is it that you want, hm?”

“I told you I wanna watch,” Johnny frowns, a bit confused as to which part of watching he wasn’t clear enough. “I wanna watch you do your thing.”

“You have been watching me since we were _kids_ ,” Sicheng spits out, looking extremely annoyed. Johnny doesn’t say he isn’t wrong. “What more could you possibly want?”

Johnny hums, tapping his fingers against his chin. “There is this… ominous but interesting energy around you that fascinates me.” He nods, mostly to himself. “I wanna watch you do your thing.”

“My _thing_ ,” Sicheng repeats, eyeing him as if he has grown three heads. “You know what? Fine, cool. But I need to ask for permission beforehand.”

“Permission?” Johnny tilts his head to the side. “Permission from who?”

Sicheng turns his back to him. “Can’t say, but you’ll see. I think. Probably, can’t be sure.”

“Is that a yes then?”

Sicheng looks at him briefly, nodding. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll see how it goes. Don’t follow me on my way out.”

It is a warning, or at least Johnny takes it as one. He watches as Sicheng grabs his stuff and makes his way back inside the house, and it takes him a minute or two to hear the sound of the iron gate echoing through the property. He sits there by the fountain for a little bit longer, watching as the blood mixes with the water.

And then there is that nothingness again, no sound or soul to keep him company, the light breeze that was once blowing against his skin replaced with emptiness. He stares into the woods that serve as a backdrop for the house, stares deep into it as if waiting for something to happen. Nothing happens and the woods only stares back at him, sending chills down his spine.

On his way back home he thinks about the things that happened. Sicheng had said Johnny has been watching him since they were kids – and logically that would make no sense, Johnny was a teen when he started following the boy every time he saw him walk past his house. Unless…

Johnny squints as he opens his front door, memories from his childhood all but foggy by now. It has been over ten years, Sicheng couldn’t have been–

He gasps as his body falls back on his bed. He can clearly see the park, white pebbles and a boy squatting around them, a bird trying to set free and then – the snapping of bones, the utter feeling of horror and dread washing over him. Now, ten years later, all he feels is realization hitting him hard like a train. It is hard to believe he and Sicheng somehow met so long ago, yet it doesn’t feel strange in the least.

He sits in darkness for what feels like hours, thinking about anything and everything, brain racing a thousand miles per hour. He wonders if the boy somehow has anything to do with the dead birds that were part of his daily routine for so many years – though it seems pretty impossible for any of that to have been human-made, especially by a child younger than him and without him seeing it even once.

It takes long for sleep to come to him. It takes long for his mind to stop wandering, to stop thinking, to stop yelling. His heart beats hard and fast in his ribcage, fingers trembling as he grasps tightly onto the bedsheets under him. It is that familiar presence in the shadows that calms him down and lures him into sleep, its presence feeling too much like home for him to simply ignore it.

He dreams of black and red silk, of fingers lightly caressing his cheek and holding his hand. He dreams of pure darkness and a voice, one he has never heard before, singing to him and drawing him in. There is darkness and then fire, a veiled figure standing amongst the flames. Then there is the house, and silence. Nothing, Johnny knows that much. He sees blood and a smile, a voice calling his name.

And then he sees it – sees _him_. It is a familiar feeling he can’t pinpoint where or when he has felt it before, but he recognizes it all too much. Ink black hair and a smile is what greets him first, the smile unsettling in its nature. He smiles at Johnny as if he knows him, and Johnny doesn’t question it. He can feel his mother’s rosary around his neck, heavy and burning his skin where it touches.

It is only when the blood-covered hand reaches for his neck and rips the rosary to pieces that he sees it – the crown of thorns around his head, digging into his skin and making blood drip down his face. It is then that he notices the red eyes looking up at him, and only then he realizes that the boy standing in front of him is nothing short of unholy.

 

📿

 

It is well into the afternoon when Johnny manages to get off bed and make his way for the mansion. He still feels drowsy even after walking for so long, feeling as if he had been drugged to sleep. His dream burns like a vision in his brain clear as day. The day is oddly cloudy and rainy, but he figures it is probably just some summer rain. As long as it doesn’t start raining before he has his ass under a roof he is totally cool with it.

He isn’t surprised to see Sicheng already waiting for him by the front door once he gets to the house, an annoyed look on his face as he squints at him.

“Sorry I took so long,” Johnny says truly apologetically, shoving his hands into his pockets. Sicheng rolls his eyes at him.

“I don’t care,” he motions to the door. “Let’s get inside though, it’s gonna start pouring soon.”

Johnny tries not to find it odd how Sicheng treats the old, abandoned mansion like it is his home. As far as he knows it might as well be at this point. He can see how easily the other navigates through the house, checking each room he passes before going all the way back into the kitchen.

He settles some snacks on the kitchen counter, giving him a pointed look when Johnny snorts at the sour candy packs.

“Sugar is a great source for quick energy,” he points out, crossing his arms when Johnny won’t stop smiling. “I’ve been doing this for years, trust me when I say you do not want your energy running out mid ritual.”

There is the faint sound of thunder in the distance, and it doesn’t take long for it to start raining. Johnny watches as the droplets of water hit the window right behind Sicheng.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” he blurts out without thinking. Sicheng doesn’t flinch.

“No,” Sicheng sighs. “Not yet. He won’t let me.”

Johnny squints his eyes, focusing back on the boy across the room. “Who won’t let you?”

“Not my place to say,” he gestures vaguely at Johnny. “You have this Christian smell all over you, it’s no wonder he won’t trust you so easily.”

“What does that even _mean_ ,” Johnny mutters, discreetly smelling his shirt to make sure he doesn’t smell bad.

“Don’t feel too offended, you’re just new. It’s normal. At least I think so.” He seems to be deep in thought for a second before he snaps out of it. “We’ll start at sunset. Do you want to help me set things up or are you gonna be utterly useless and just watch me from afar?”

Johnny clutches at his heart, feigning hurt. “I’m not useless, I can help. If that’s what you want.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yes, I’m asking if you want to help because I _don’t_ want you to help.” He rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “aren’t you a dumb one.”

Sicheng leads him to a room near the entrance, the same room Johnny remembers having seeing him in before. It is the room he watched Sicheng kill that rabbit, the room he saw the other be kissed by another man, and Johnny makes a mental note to ask him about the guy sometime later in the day.

He stays by the door as Sicheng makes his way into the empty room, socked feet rubbing over the hardwood as if to clean it up. He doesn’t tell Johnny to come in and Johnny makes no movement to do so uninvited, a bit intimidated by his strong and imposing energy. Johnny thinks he could easily break Sicheng's neck with his own hands if he really wanted to, what with the boy being this skinny.

But there is something about the way he carries himself, about the way he looks bored most of the time and the way he doesn’t give a shit about the things Johnny has to say that intrigues him. It is something about his energy, his aura of sorts even though Johnny has no idea what that means, that makes him curious, makes him want to find out more.

Maybe it is the fact that Johnny has seen him kill animals in two separate occasions, two different ages, without a care in the world. The thought of being around someone as calculating and cold-blooded turns him on, impossibly so.

Those are definitely things he should not be thinking about right now. He can feel fire set in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spread. Instead of indulging them on like he would do any other day he opts to push them down and bury them in the back of his head, if only for the sake of not having an awkward boner just as Sicheng pulls his knife out of his backpack.

And then he motions for Johnny to come in, giving him a jar of white powder once he is at arm’s reach. Johnny stands there, confused, and Sicheng rolls his eyes at him and calls him stupid again before telling him to make a salt circle big enough to fit the both of them. He nods and does so as told, careful to make it as even as possible.

“You’re not supposed to use salt on soil,” Sicheng says calmly as he pulls an array of candles from his bag. “It makes the ground infertile.”

Johnny doesn’t understand why he is being told that at first until it clicks. “Is this why you used those stones?”

Sicheng nods. “Since this isn’t natural grounds there is no problem in using salt.”

Johnny hums, not really knowing what to say. He focuses on finishing up the circle, satisfied with how it ends up looking. He settles back into watching mode just as Sicheng starts drawing on the floor with some chalk Johnny didn’t really see him getting, a neat pentagram shape taking form under deft fingers.

He places a candle in each point of the pentagram, colors variating between plain white, red and black. The wax melts down their bodies, a sign that Sicheng has used those candles before, and Johnny briefly wonders what for. He notices he has absolutely no idea what he is getting himself into, and he would be a bit scared wasn’t it absolutely thrilling.

He takes a seat inside the circle, opposite to where Sicheng is sitting on one end of the pentagram. The other doesn’t make an effort to start conversation again, and Johnny scans his brain for something to say.

“How did you end up finding your way into this house?”

Sicheng sits in silence for a moment, thinking of what to say. “I was brought here.”

“Like… someone brought you here?” he tilts his head to the side questioningly. “That’s… impossible? I thought the house was locked up by the Hall.”

“No,” he shakes his head, looking up at Johnny from where he’s arranging his candles. “I was guided here. I was let in, and the only reason you’re here is because you were let in as well.” He frowns for a moment. “Though I don’t know why, but I don’t make the rules.”

“The door was open,” he points to where the front door is at. “That’s how I came in that day. The front door was open.”

“You really are something else,” Sicheng scoffs, focusing back on his work. “I don’t know at which point it happened, or why, but he let you in and that’s all I can say.”

Johnny thinks about the million questions he could possibly ask but chooses to not press on the topic any further. He doesn’t understand what Sicheng means and has a feeling the boy won’t tell him anything more than that. Sicheng sets some matches aside.

“Do you know what happened in this house?” he asks, and Sicheng looks back up at him a bit confused. “In the past, I mean. With the previous owner.”

“Mother and daughter died here, but that’s really all everyone knows.” By the way his cheeks color in crimson Johnny knows he is lying. He doesn’t point it out. “If there are any questions you’d like to have some answers to, think of them now and we’ll ask them later.”

“Anything?”

Sicheng nods. “But like, keep it simple. Yes or no answers and all that. You can make more complicated ones later on but for now…” he gestures at his candles. “It’s what we can work with.”

He tries to think of things to ask but his mind draws blank as he watches Sicheng finish setting things up. The clock ticks and the sun sets outside, the rain not letting up in the least. The sound of the storm calms him up, a sound he has grown so familiar with through the years.

“I’ll need you to do some grounding as well,” Johnny stares blankly at Sicheng, trying not to make it obvious he has no idea what he is talking about. It doesn’t work. “And of course you don’t know what that is. Why am I even letting you do this with me? Just do what I do.”

He starts stretching out, from the tip of his toes all the way up to his neck. It is hard for both their legs to fit inside the salt circle without ruining everything around but they manage to do so with minimal physical contact. Cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck, Sicheng lets his eyes fall open once again.

“I need you to clear your mind. Think about the things that you want, the things you want the most. Focus all that energy on your thoughts, and picture them coming to life right here.”

All he ever wanted was to be heard. He doesn’t know how to materialize that, doesn’t know how he could possibly make that come to life, so instead he just lets his mind draw blank like he does best, and waits for something, anything to happen.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t the energy shift in the room, how much more powerful Sicheng's aura feels. It is a bit unsettling if anything, room temperature dropping to a cold chill. He tries to keep his cool.

“Now that we’re settled and night has fallen, it’s time. Remember, try to keep it simple. I’ll tell you the answers.”

“Can you hear ghosts?” Johnny knows it is a dumb question, but he can’t stop himself before he says it.

“No, you idiot. I’m not going to explain every little detail to you, just trust me on this.”

He places one last candle on the center of the pentagram. Johnny can feel his mouth run dry and his heart beat faster as he reaches for a match and starts lighting the candles, the smell of frozen pines filling the air. It is not as overpowering as it is hypnotizing. Or maybe Johnny is just easily distracted.

The flames flick for a moment before settling, high and steady. Sicheng gives him a look, and Johnny figures it is his time to start talking. He can feel his palms sweat as he thinks of a question, heartbeat too loud to let him think properly.

“Hi,” he hesitates, tongue heavy in his mouth. Sicheng rolls his eyes at him. “I don’t really know what I’m doing so please be patient with me.”

The flame flickers. “Just ask something.”

Johnny stutters on his words. “Something simple, right. Uh, will I… will I pass my exams?”

“ _Come on_ man,” Sicheng whines, annoyed that he would waste a question on something stupid like that. His eyes are trained on the candle in front of him, and Johnny tries his best to focus as well. The flame stays high as it slightly leans to the left. “That’s a yes. Congrats in advance, nerd.”

“Cool! Thanks! Uh, is it–” he cuts himself off, pondering if he should really ask that. Not that he has anything to lose. “Is it normal to get a boner at the sight of blood?”

“Strong yes,” Sicheng mutters more to himself than at him, eyes still glued to the candle. The flame splits into two for a while, and Sicheng doesn’t say anything further. When it settles back into a high and steady flame, he looks up at Johnny. “As I said, that’s a yes.”

“Cool,” he tries not to be disturbed by the fact, “cool. Okay, like, I really need an answer for this and I hope you have one but… did my ex ever truly love me?”

The flame quickly dims down to a short, weak stance, and Johnny watches Sicheng as he gulps. Johnny doesn’t think he wants to hear the answer, but Sicheng speaks before he can stop him, “I’m sorry? It’s– it’s a no.”

“Does my mom love me?” he asks quietly, not giving himself enough time to collect his thoughts. The flame starts flickering violently, does so for a couple seconds before settling back steady.

“Strong no,” Sicheng mutters, and Johnny nods at the answer. He has had his suspicions for a while now but hearing the truth doesn’t hurt any less.

“Do you want me here?”

As the candle sets its flame high and steady, Sicheng smiles to himself. “He does. Otherwise he wouldn’t have let you in.”

Johnny asks without thinking as things pop in his head. “Can you retain a physical body?” the flame remains high and steady, and Johnny barely waits for Sicheng's yes before he is asking, “can you possess others?”

The flame remains steady, albeit very low this time. Sicheng shakes his head no.

“Were you ever human?” Sicheng looks up at him in surprise, quickly looking back down to the candle. It splits into a dual flame for a while before it starts sputtering and crackling.

“He says there is more to your answer than a simple yes or no.”

“What does that mean?” Johnny is eyeing Sicheng, but the other shrugs. “Will I make it out alive?”

“Why are you asking that?” Sicheng eyes him curiously. He shrugs back at him.

“I don’t know man, like, you could kill me any second. You never know.” Sicheng rolls his eyes and they both focus back on the candle, watching as its flame restores back to high and steady. Johnny doesn’t need to hear the other say to know that’s a yes. Relief washes over him.

They stay there in silence for a while, Sicheng muttering some questions of his own, words Johnny doesn’t bother trying to pick up. He doesn’t know how much time has passed since they started; it could have been minutes or hours, he doesn’t really know. He doesn’t really care either, with his mother out of town he owes nothing to no one.

“You good to go?” Sicheng interrupts his train of thoughts, and Johnny blinks up at him.

“No, I have one more question.” Sicheng motions for him to go ahead. He straightens out his back and takes a deep breath. “Is God real?”

The flame violently flickers for seconds too long before all the flames around the pentagram run out, and it is only when darkness hits them and Johnny can finally hear the rain against the glass windows that he notices he was holding his breath.

Sicheng looks up at him, or so he thinks, he can’t really see. “That was a strong and violent no, in case you didn’t notice.”

Johnny lets realization sink in before he allows himself to reply. “So I was raised with lies.”

“Well, when you put it like that–”

Johnny pierces his gaze at the boy through the dark, hoping it is as heavy as he feels. His heart sinks to his stomach. “So all the things I had to say and hear and do – the amount of times I was forced to pray, they were all just lies?”

“To put it simply? Yes.” Sicheng doesn’t try to sugarcoat it. He is glad. “But it’s not your fault? People are raised to believe in God because they fear what they can’t see.”

He thinks back to his childhood, to him being six and crying so desperately he woke his mother up. He thinks of the thing in his ceiling, the thing that woke him up every day like clockwork. He thinks of the thing in his treehouse mirror and the thing in his closet, behind him in his bathroom mirror and he tries to make sense of it all.

Was that it? Was it only because he could see something his mother couldn’t? He doesn’t think it makes sense to fear things you can’t see and yet dedicate your entire life to God, something you can’t see either. And it – He isn’t even real? Johnny can feel himself spiral, hard and fast, headfirst into the abyss.

“I want in,” he states, and Sicheng accidentally kicks his foot when moving around. “Whatever it is – whatever _this_ is, I want in. Even if all I’ll do is watch, I want it. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Are you sure about that?” he can hear Sicheng fumble with his candles, though he still can’t see anything before him.

“What made you decide you wanted to meddle with these things?”

Sicheng pauses for a while, deep in thought. “Among several other things including my upbringing, I came to the conclusion that if I cannot bend heaven I will raise hell.”

“Sick,” he doesn’t hear Sicheng move, doesn’t hear him walk, and his heart nearly falls off his ass when the boy is suddenly standing right in front of him. “That’s so cool. Let me–” he stutters, “let me.”

Sicheng places a hand on his shoulder, weight featherlike. He runs it down his chest, fingers lightly tracing its expanse, lingering over his heart. His hand is warm even through the fabric of his shirt, and Johnny tries not to flinch when he digs a finger into his chest. He stops as soon as he started it, hand still over his chest.

“He will eat your heart,” he whispers, and though it’s still hard to see in the dark, Johnny can see Sicheng is looking right up at him. “He will eat your heart and swallow you whole, Johnny. And when you think it’s over he will drink up your blood and then… then there is no coming back.”

“Maybe I don’t want to ever come back,” he whispers back, hand reaching up to Sicheng's wrist.

He can see it, the glint in Sicheng's eyes. He can feel his steady breathing, the warmth of his hand and the pulsing of his own blood in his veins. Sicheng hums, letting his hand drop slowly down his body until they are no longer touching, and Johnny holds his breath and braces himself for whatever it is.

“Alright,” Sicheng sounds determined, composed. “He gave me permission to perform some things on you. Do you want it?”

“Does it mean I can count myself in? Also, is it dangerous?”

“You might be, I’m not the one who decides. And no,” he pauses for a second, “it isn’t.”

“Boring,” Johnny whines, and is sure that he would be able to see Sicheng roll his eyes at him if possible. “Lead me to death, sir.”

“That’s– that’s not how it works.”

“You have a knife,” Johnny points out, “you _could_ murder me if you wanted.”

Sicheng sighs. “And I _will_ if you keep talking out of your ass. Let’s go out to the backyard.”

Johnny momentarily forgets it is supposed to be summer once they step outside, the wind blowing cold against his skin. There is no artificial light shining outside, just like inside, but moonlight is bright enough to allow him to see Sicheng walking a couple steps ahead of him.

He sits by the fountain, on the ground, motioning for Johnny to do the same. He does, watching as the other pulls a small pumpkin, a daisy, sesame and… vanilla? From his backpack. Then he reaches for his knife, the same one Johnny has seen before, blade shining under the moonlight, cutting the pumpkin in half and hollowing it out.

He places the daisy in the hollow, sprinkling it with the vanilla and sesame. Johnny watched with intent, the look of concentration in his face making him look kind of cute in the dark. He smiles despite himself when Sicheng pokes his tongue out, mixing everything together for a bit.

“Give me your hand,” Sicheng suddenly says, now looking up at him. Johnny stretches his arm out, palm facing up. “This is going to hurt a little bit, don’t move.”

Johnny isn’t aware of what is going on until Sicheng holds his hand tightly over the pumpkin. The coldness of the steel touches his skin and he shivers, the blade cutting into his finger with a flick of Sicheng's wrist. Blood drips down, staining the daisy petals with dark crimson, and Johnny smiles to himself when Sicheng gives him a smile of his own.

He tries to push down his arousal at the sight of his own blood in vain, for instead of letting go of his hand Sicheng pulls it in instead, bringing it to face level and slipping the bloodied finger past his lips. Johnny watches in absolute awe as he sucks on his finger with want, tongue rolling around the digit and licking it clean. He pulls it out with an obscene pop, blood smearing on his lower lip as he does so, and all Johnny can do is gape at him in shock.

“Can you dig up a hole?” Sicheng pokes at the pumpkin with his knife, tongue licking at the smear of blood on his lips. “Deep enough to fit this.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything, couldn’t even if he wanted to, quickly wiping his finger clean on his shirt before moving around to get to work. He doesn’t get the chance to see what Sicheng is doing next, back turned to him as he digs his hands into fresh soil. He can feel his cheeks flare up and his dick pulse against the zipper of his jeans, a low groan escaping his lips when his mind won’t stop replaying the absurd scene that just happened.

“You okay?” Sicheng crouches down next to him, pumpkin put back together in his hands.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, clearly not fine, but Sicheng doesn’t argue.

He places the pumpkin into the hole, throwing dirt over it until it is covered up completely. He whispers something Johnny can’t distinguish, drawing an upside down cross on the soil over where it was placed with a finger, and Johnny feels his guts twist.

“Come,” he demands, getting back on his feet, and Johnny obliges easily.

His legs feel heavy, blood rushing through his veins. His skin feels like it’s on fire, uncomfortable everywhere it touches his clothes, but he tries to ignore it once they sit back down. He doesn’t expect Sicheng to take _more_ things out of his backpack and he wonders how many things he can fit into the bag, seeing as it doesn’t look all that spacious.

Sugar, a strawberry, a handful of rose petals and a dish is what he takes out this time. He holds the strawberry up to Johnny’s face, eyeing him when Johnny doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Kiss it,” he says, pressing the fruit against his lips. Johnny frowns but does as he is told.

Sicheng kisses it right after, Johnny’s eyes sparkling with curiosity. He dips it into the sugar, rolling the fruit around until it is completely covered in fine white powder. Johnny’s eyes follow the movement of his hand as it reaches up, his gaze flicking to the boy’s plush lips as they part. He sinks his teeth into the berry, not hard enough to split it in two.

And then a hand reaches up to the back of his neck, pulling him in. Johnny’s breath hitches when he finds himself too close to Sicheng's face, their breaths mingling as Johnny stares right into his eyes. It’s only when Sicheng tilts his head to the side and pulls him closer that he gets it.

He leans in, lips brushing against Sicheng's as he bites into the fruit. And then Sicheng is kissing him, and he tries not to choke around his half of the strawberry as Sicheng licks into his mouth, kissing him with far too much intent. It’s addicting, Johnny realizes, the taste of his mouth, the touch on his neck and the feel of his presence. It’s addicting and he wants more, so much more than what Sicheng is probably willing to give him.

And then they part without a word, Sicheng focusing back on his task as he munches on the fruit and swallows it down. It’s hard for him to breathe, hard for him to focus, and he would have completely missed everything else had it not been for the burning fire. He doesn’t know when it happens, where Sicheng gets the matches from or why he does it, but the strawberry leaves burn along the rose petals inside the porcelain dish.

Sicheng gets up on his feet, offering his hand for Johnny to take, helping him up on wobbly legs. He doesn’t put the fire out, leaves it burning as he pulls Johnny back into the house and then all the way to the front porch and back to the iron gate.

“Next time,” Sicheng is the one to break the silence, and it is only then that Johnny notices he sounds a little breathless, “what do you say we send some of the pain you’ve been through back to the person who caused it?”

“That…” Johnny contemplates for a while, thinking he would feel at least a little bit uncomfortable over the idea of causing pain on his own mother. He feels nothing. “Sounds like a good idea, yeah.”

“Perfect. Oh and one more thing, bring some stuff related to the things you want to leave behind. We’ll get rid of those and then… then I think you’re ready to meet him.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but will do.”

They stand by the gate in silence for a while, Sicheng staring into his soul through his bangs, and Johnny feels uneasy to be stared at for so long. Then he is kissing him again, no strawberry in their mouths this time, and Johnny kisses him back as best as he can despite the shivers that run down his spine. Sicheng's tongue is just as warm as his fingers that tangle into his hair, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth as he shoves his tongue down Johnny’s throat.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispers against his lips once they part, spit making his lips shine even in the dark. “You’re a fucking idiot and I hate it that I’m even attracted to you.”

Johnny smiles down at him. “When is _next time_ going to be?”

Sicheng hums, pondering for a while. “I’ll shoot you a text?”

“Is that you asking for my number?”

Sicheng smiles at him, stretching his hand out and asking for his phone. He struggles to get it out of his pocket, cheeks blushing when Sicheng suppresses a laugh at him. He is glad it’s dark enough so the other won’t see it. He waits for him to type in his number, amusement filling him up when Sicheng opens the front camera to take a selfie.

“I’ll text you later,” there is a smirk on his lips and Johnny’s breath gets caught in his throat when he wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him in for another kiss.

He doesn’t get the chance to reply before Sicheng is pushing him away, shoving his phone into his hand and strutting up the street and out of his sight. Johnny doesn’t really know why he half expected them to live in the same direction, realization that he is alone of his own sinking in heavy like the night sky. The walk home is a rather cold one, and he curses himself when it starts raining five minutes before he gets to his house.

Sicheng does text him, as promised, half an hour past midnight. Johnny is half asleep in his bed when his phone rings with a new message, and he struggles to fight sleep as he rolls on his side and reaches for the phone. He doesn’t know what he expected; maybe a simple _hey_ or something, anything would have done the trick if he’s being honest.

He definitely did not expect to open the chat to a picture of Sicheng, half naked – or fully naked for all he cares – in his bathtub, two fingers shoved into his mouth. And there is blood, so much of it, coating his fingers and running down his chin. His chest is soaked with it, too, and for a second Johnny wonders where that much blood came from.

It doesn’t really matter, though. Not when his dick twitches in the confines of his pajama pants, begging to be touched. He is one hell of a mess, that much he knows, fingers quickly typing a _what the fuck_ as a reply before shoving them down his pants. They are cold as he wraps them around the base of his dick, entirely mind numbing as he makes quick work of stroking himself to release before Sicheng can even text back.

It’s embarrassing, it really is, how fast he comes with the simple image of Sicheng looking like that burning behind his eyelids. It shouldn’t be so easy for him to get aroused like that, shouldn’t be so easy for him to get off like that, but he can’t bring himself to care.

And then his phone is ringing with an incoming call, Sicheng's picture onscreen as it rings. He recollects himself as best as he can before picking it up.

“What the fuck,” is the first thing he says, thoughts still clouded with lust.

There is the sound of water and a chuckle. He figures Sicheng must still be in his bathtub. “Did you like it?”

“What the fuck, Sicheng,” he breathes out, feeling like he is going to cry.

“Wonderful,” Sicheng giggles, moving around in the water. There is a pause, and then, “did you come?”

Johnny chokes on his own saliva. “Does it _matter?_ ”

“It does,” he adds quickly. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, embarrassed.

“Perfect,” Sicheng fucking _squeals_ on the other end of the line, and Johnny can feel his face heat up. “It worked!”

Johnny settles into a different position, the cum in his underwear entirely uncomfortable. “What worked?”

“My spell,” he says matter-of-factly. “Didn’t think it would start working so quickly but, oh, this is amazing. _Wonderful_. He is gonna be so happy to hear.”

“You put a spell on me to… come quickly?”

He sounds stupid, he knows, and if he could see Sicheng right now he is sure he would be able to see him roll his eyes.

“Don’t be that much of an idiot, Johnny. That would be a waste. It’s a spell to bring lust into your life, and it worked. I’m brilliant.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he opts to not saying anything at all. Sicheng is just as quiet, and he would’ve thought the line had gone dead wasn’t for the sound of water splashing coming from Sicheng's end. And then there is padding, things being knocked over and a huff. Johnny wonders if the boy has gotten into his bed.

“So,” he starts again, voice hoarse. “When is next time going to be?”

Sicheng hums. “In… maybe three days? Does that sound good to you?”

His mother won’t be home, it’s perfect. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good, I’ll drop by then. See you in three days, Johnny.”

He hangs up before Johnny can even say anything back, and frustration licks at his chest as he shoves his phone under his pillow. He considers going to sleep right then and there, but the stickiness in his underwear is far too uncomfortable for him to ignore.

He makes his way to his bathroom, running the coldest shower he can, letting the water wash away his sins and the tinge of guilt he feels. As he towels his hair dry, staring at himself in the mirror, he chooses to ignore the shadow standing a couple feet behind him. He chooses to ignore the darkness that bathes his bedroom, the coldness that has suddenly taken over. He lets sleep take him easily, the heavy feeling in his chest too familiar for comfort.

He doesn’t ignore the figure in his dreams, the same one he has seen before. He recognizes the red silk, the bloodied hands as they reach up to him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even breathe. He can’t breathe for all he knows; the warmth of blood being smeared against his cheeks too comforting for his own good.

It feels like home. He finds home in the form of red silk and bloody hands, red eyes and the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. His chest feels heavy, like a hand is constantly pressing down on him, his blood boiling in his veins. He can’t tell features apart, sight blurry around the edges, but it doesn’t matter. The fingers trail up from his cheeks to his hair, tangling into his locks and bringing him in.

And then there is Sicheng. He knows it’s him, can see it in his hair color and smell it in his scent, though the metallic smell of blood is the most prevalent of them all. He is still shirtless, just like in the picture he sent Johnny before going to sleep, and this much Johnny knows is just a projection of his memories into his dreams. Even like this, deep into sleep, Johnny thinks Sicheng is perfect.

And then they kiss, and it feels so real, the weight of his tongue against his sending him into a spiral, the taste of blood heavy as they move. Disturbing is the first thing he thinks of when he registers the taste, arousing the last one as Sicheng wraps his legs around his waist and Johnny all but hoists him up.

Everything fades to black before he can even realize. He is alone, completely on his own, blood dripping down his hands and onto the floor. He is alone until he isn’t, the red silk keeping him company again. It’s cold. The figure smiles up at him.

“Are you going to heaven, Johnny?”

It’s the first time Johnny has seen the figure talk, though it doesn’t feel like the first time he has heard that voice at all.

“There is no god,” he answers, tongue heavy in his mouth. “There is no heaven.”

Red eyes glisten up at him. The figure moves again, getting closer to him, so close he can feel warmth radiate from its body. It still feels cold.

“You’re right, aren’t you?” there is a smile playing on its lips. Johnny wants to bend down and kiss it. He doesn’t. There is silence, thick and heavy as the figure stares him down. It feels familiar, exactly like home. That much he knows: it feels like home.

“Who are you?” he whispers, unsettled as blood pools at his feet.

“Death is the only god who comes when you call.”

 

📿

 

Johnny wakes up to the sound of his doorbell ringing. It is hard to leave his eyes open for longer than a second, especially with how rainy it is outside. And it’s still so dark too, he can’t fathom who would knock on someone’s door at the ass hours of the morning.

He makes his way to his bedroom balcony, shivering when cold water starts hitting his skin. It takes him a minute to register who’s standing on his front porch.

“What are you doing here?!” he yells, the boy ringing his doorbell looking up at him.

“I told you I’d drop by!” Sicheng yells back, a smile on his lips.

Johnny frowns, not recalling when he had sent the other his address or anything of the like. He is rapidly getting drenched from head to toe, rain unforgiving, while Sicheng looks completely dry. His frown deepens.

“Give me a minute,” Sicheng gives him a thumbs up and a toothy smile, and Johnny hurriedly makes his way back inside. His room is terribly cold, and the floor now is all wet, and he momentarily curses everything and everyone for putting him in this situation.

The doorbell rings again the second he reaches for a towel in his bathroom and he runs downstairs, if only to make Sicheng stop ringing the bell so frequently as soon as possible. He starts toweling his hair as he opens the door, and Sicheng's big smile is all but blinding and disconcerting.

“Don’t bother with it,” he reaches for the towel in Johnny’s hand and takes it, throwing it somewhere to the left, on the most certainly dirty floor.

Johnny doesn’t get a chance to protest before Sicheng is all over him, fingers in his hair and lips on his neck. Sicheng feels as hot as Johnny feels cold, his lips burning the skin where he touches. He trails kisses from his neck to under his jaw and then his lips, and Johnny knows he is this close from losing his mind.

Now it feels so much better than the first time they kissed, just as sweet but a lot more heated. Sicheng's tongue feels like velvet in his mouth, mapping every inch he can reach, licking every crevice possible. Johnny doesn’t really know if the noises he hears being spilled into his mouth are just a product of his imagination or if Sicheng really is mewling into him, and he doesn’t dare pulling away to find out.

And then Sicheng is palming him through his pants, fingers on fire over his wet pajamas, and he is the one panting and mewling and practically moaning into the other’s mouth. Sicheng pulls him closer by the hips, grinding up against him and Johnny notices the boy is just as hard as he is.

“Take me to your room,” Sicheng mumbles against his lips, allowing them to catch their breaths only for a brief second before they are kissing again.

It is a struggle to break it off and peel Sicheng away from himself so he can focus on his task, especially with the way Sicheng's fingers start tugging at the waistband of his pants and underwear. He tries not to trip and fall on his way up, Sicheng following him only seconds after, socked feet almost silent on the staircase.

Sicheng doesn’t bother closing the door behind himself once they are inside him room, instead pushing Johnny down his bed, straddling his hips and kissing him full on the lips again. Johnny doesn’t think he will ever grow tired of his kisses, the wetness of his mouth and the heat of his skin.

His weight is comfortable on top of him and Johnny almost forget about how cold he feels, Sicheng's hot breath fanning against his face as he parts to take a breather, fingers working on ridding himself of his flannel shirt. Johnny wishes he had it in him to do it himself, but his bones melt into the mattress the faster Sicheng works on undressing himself.

It is only when he is down to his boxers that Johnny notices how overly dressed and wet he still is, the fabric of his clothes sticking uncomfortably with his skin. Sicheng gets on moving before he does, snaking his fingers under his shirt and pulling it over his head in one go.

“You’re so hot,” Sicheng whispers hurriedly, bending down to place kisses over the expanse of his chest. Johnny can feel his heart racing in his chest, pulse thundering in his ears when Sicheng grinds down on him, boner pressing pleasantly against his own.

“Please,” he whines embarrassingly, not really sure of what he’s asking for.

Sicheng gets it, of course he does, trails kisses down his torso and over his navel, going lower until he is hovering over his dick. He squirms under his touch and his gaze, Sicheng's hot breath sending blood rushing from his head to his dick, making his toes curl into the mattress.

“Have you ever done this before?” Sicheng curls his fingers into the waistband of his bands, watching him curiously for his reaction.

Johnny scrunches his nose in thought, trying to find his words among his choked up whines. “No. kind of? My ex, he–” he coughs, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “He ate me out once.”

“Oh,” his lips form a pretty ‘o’ shape, and Johnny wishes he had them wrapped around his dick. “You’re a virgin then?”

He tries to cough his embarrassment away. “Well, if you put it that way–”

“Too bad I can’t fuck you then,” the smile on his lips is borderline sadistic and Johnny absolutely hates it. “Oh, he’s gonna _love_ it.”

“Love what?”

Sicheng pulls his pants down and his underwear along with it, dipping down to place a kiss right above his hipbone. “Virgin’s blood. I can suck you off if that’s okay with you though.”

“Fuck,” his back arches off the bed the longer Sicheng kisses his skin, words a jumbled up mess in his brain. “Fuck, yeah that’s– _oh my god_.”

Sicheng is holding his dick by the base, tongue flat on the underside. “Don’t say that when I’m about to put your dick in my mouth.”

Johnny almost laughs at that, but then he really does exactly as he says and his laughter ends up coming out as a choked up moan, his fingers grasping the sheets so tightly they hurt. The heat of Sicheng's mouth around his cock is nothing compared to when they kiss – it’s far better than he could have anticipated.

Sicheng focuses on the head for a while, sucking and swirling his tongue and moaning around him, letting as much saliva pool in his mouth as possible. It makes Johnny want to scream, the feeling of being played with, of being completely at one’s mercy.

He doesn’t scream, though, rather moans so loud he thinks his neighbors might have been able to hear him all the way from their houses when Sicheng goes down on him, taking more of his dick in. He fists what he can’t fit in his mouth, and Johnny groans when his free hand starts playing with his balls.

His dick hurts as it pulses in Sicheng's mouth, the obscene noises he makes as he sucks him off added to the amount of saliva he lets dribble down his length sending him too close to the edge too fast. He fists his fingers into Sicheng's hair, gripping tightly in an attempt to pull him off to warn him. Sicheng takes none of it, though, rather moans around his cock at having his hair pulled, working his head faster.

Johnny doesn’t have it in him to try to stop him any further. He bucks his hips and fucks into Sicheng's mouth, throwing his head back into the mattress when the other chokes around him. Sicheng coughs up and Johnny knows it is a mistake the second he looks down and there are tears brimming his eyes and his chin shines with spit.

“You wanna come?” there is a devilish smile on his face when he asks this, fist never ceasing on jerking him off as he takes a breather.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Johnny groans, caressing the back of his head. “Fuck, yeah.”

It only takes a few jerks of Sicheng's fist and his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his cock for him to come, entire body trembling as his orgasm washes over him in waves. He momentarily blacks out from pleasure, eyes shut so tightly it briefly gives him a headache. When he opens them again and takes a look at Sicheng it feels like he is being punched right in the stomach.

Sicheng has cum all over his face, from his bangs to his lids and across his cheeks and lips, and Johnny feels his entire body blush at the sight. He is still shaking when Sicheng lets go of him and straddles his hips again, quickly wiping his eyelids clean and bending down to kiss him full on the lips.

“We might have to work on how quickly you come,” he mumbles, resting his forehead on his shoulder. Johnny can feel his cum sticking to his skin. “But I’m glad my spell works.”

“How did you know where to find me,” Johnny croaks out, still feeling slightly dizzy from his high.

“He sent me here,” Sicheng replies like it’s that simple, and he frowns.

“I don’t think I understand it.”

Sicheng pushes himself off Johnny, off his bend and towards the bathroom. “You’ll see today. Have you gotten your things ready?”

Johnny sits up, watching as the other turns on the faucet to wash his face. “You must be aware you literally woke me up by ringing on my door so fucking early.”

“Well, Johnny,” he pauses for a minute, scrubbing his skin clean thoroughly. “Don’t think the devil waits for anyone because he doesn’t.”

“The _what_ now?”

Sicheng laughs, turning the water off and turning around to look at him in amusement, toweling his face dry. “Come on, you can’t be that oblivious.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he wants to scream, but deep down he already knows the answer.

“Does it look like this is a joke for me?” he throws the towel somewhere on the floor, gaze piercing through his soul. Johnny feels a shiver run down his spine. “Do I look like a joke to you, Johnny?”

Johnny inches closer to the edge of his bed. “That’s– that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”

Sicheng walks up to him, looking more serious than Johnny would have liked him to. He holds Johnny by the chin and tilts his head up forcefully, staring right into his soul. It feels uncomfortable but he tries to not let it show through.

“You better be,” he spits out, letting go of his face with just as much force as he used to grip him. The touch lingers on his skin, burning. “We can get going if you have your things ready.”

“Ah, just,” he looks around, searching for his clothes, suddenly embarrassed. “Just give me a moment.”

He makes a beeline for his bathroom, quickly stopping by his closet for fresh clothes and new underwear. He closes the door shut behind him, leaving Sicheng on his own back in his bedroom, and for the first time he chooses to not ignore it.

He stares right into the figure in his mirror, standing a couple feet behind him, right over his shoulder. He stares so hard into it the blurry shadow might as well be engraved into his brain, and he finds he can’t really look away. He washes his face and brushes his teeth, dresses up once again and the figure is still there, staring him down, unmoving. He doesn’t try looking behind his back, knows that if he does there will be nothing there.

“Who are you?” he whispers, either to himself or the figure, but neither gives him a response. He sighs, turning on his heels and exiting the bathroom only to find Sicheng fully dressed and ready to go.

They move around in silence, Sicheng watching with hawk eyes Johnny’s every move as he grabbed a bag and his phone and things he thought to be essential. Sicheng follows him when he exits the room, follows him when he makes his way into his mother’s and watches him closely as he picks up a cross hanging right above her bed and shoves it into his bag.

Sicheng raises a brow at him when he turns back around as if asking him if that is all, to which he nods and brushes past him and towards the stairs. It is no longer raining when they make their way out, though it is certainly still gloomy and looking like it could start raining again at any given second.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles somewhere before they reach the house, Sicheng's shoulder brushing against his. The other doesn’t look up at him. “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

“Listen, I understand.” Sicheng bumps into him, and when Johnny looks down there is the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I don’t exactly expect you to believe everything when you’re a raised Christian but… be mindful of others, okay?”

They don’t say much after that, rather enjoy their walk to the mansion. The air is chilly, not cold enough to freeze their asses off but enough to make them stick together all the way to the house. Sicheng leads them through yet again, familiar with the grounds and its surroundings. He doesn’t go in like Johnny expected him to, instead goes all the way around and to the backyard.

Sicheng pulls a notebook from his own backpack, a couple matches and some red ink and a brush. He settles on the ground, motioning for Johnny to sit right next to him. He does, and the other starts stretching out immediately after. Johnny does the same just like the last time they were there.

“Did you bring something from your mom?” Sicheng asks already knowing the answer, having seen him go into her room to fetch the cross. Johnny takes it out from his backpack and throws it his way without much thought. “Good. Now get this,” he pushes the notebook and ink towards him, “and write a list of everything awful she has done to you or to someone you know. Write to your heart’s content.”

Johnny stares at the book for a while, its blank pages staring right back up at him. There are a million things he wants to say, a million more he wants to write, and yet none of those come to mind as his fingers hover over the brush and ink. His knees hurt with the ghost memory of kneeling down too many times to pray, his cheek with the slap he got the day he came out, and suddenly his blood boils with anger and he doesn’t hesitate anymore.

He fills out page after page after page, his fingers shaking as he grips the brush, pages nearly tearing apart as he soaks them with ink. He can feel his eyes burn, can feel the tears prickling the corners of his eyes, trying to spill, but he doesn’t let them. He doesn’t allow himself to be weak over something that has caused him so much pain; it is his time to be the strong one and he will do anything he can to show it.

“Are you okay?” Sicheng whispers, placing a hand over his knee. Johnny only notices his blurry vision when he looks up from the notebook and at Sicheng, who has a frown on his face. He doesn’t notice the paper crumbling in his hand. “I think this much should be enough.”

Johnny nods, quickly shoving the notebook back into Sicheng's hands and drying up his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. He watches in silence as the other reopens the notebook in a blank page, placing the cross right in the middle and then closing it, binding the notebook with a piece of yarn. He stretches out his hand and Johnny takes it in his own.

“Repeat after me,” he mutters, eyeing him for a reaction. Johnny nods. “You must know you have debts to pay and your scorned will collect one day.”

Johnny takes a deep breath, watching as Sicheng shifts from looking at him to looking straight ahead and then closing his eyes. He does the same, and although he can feel his palm get sweaty where it touches Sicheng's skin he tries not to mind it that much.

Sicheng lets go of his hand once they repeat the saying three times, and Johnny takes a heartbeat too long to open his eyes again. When he does, Sicheng has a lit candle in hand, muttering some words he can’t register before he lowers it down to the book and the pages immediately catch on fire.

The flames are hot and high, the prettiest shade of orange he has ever seen. He can’t take his eyes off the notebook as it burns, as the fire grows and the flames dance around in place. Sicheng snakes his hand back into his and Johnny doesn’t think twice before intertwining their fingers.

Sicheng smiles up at him and Johnny doesn’t miss it, lets himself be pulled into a kiss that is more tongue than lips. He lets Sicheng lick into his mouth as he pleases, enjoying the soft mewling spilling willingly into his mouth with far too much delight. They tear apart right in time to see the flames change, from high and orange to low and purple before it runs out.

“He is ready to meet you,” Sicheng calls out, tugging on his hand and bringing Johnny’s attention back to himself. “Let’s head inside.”

The house is as quiet as it has ever been, the cold temperature from outside carrying itself to each and every room they go across. Sicheng doesn’t stop by the empty room Johnny has made himself familiar with, rather crosses the entire house and makes his way to the grand staircase splitting the house in two.

Johnny doesn’t make any questions, a feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach telling him to keep quiet. The upstairs floor is even darker and colder than the first one, velvet drapes stopping light from coming in. He can feel his blood run cold, his natural instinct telling him to leave, but he keeps following Sicheng down the long hallway instead.

Sicheng opens a door to their left, peeking inside for a while before throwing the door ajar. Johnny stumbles in his step, trying not to trip and fall at seemingly nothing as he makes his way into the room as well.

Judging by the size of the room and how big of a bed is there he figures it must have once been the house’s master bedroom. It’s cold, and dark, and it smells like locked up furniture and winter jasmine. He recognizes the jasmine smell from somewhere, though he can’t pinpoint where from.

He watches in silence from his spot by the door as Sicheng works on a new salt circle around himself, drawing a perfect pentagram with white chalk and setting up his candles the exact same way he did the last time they were in the house. He shoves his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking, knees threatening to give up on him.

Sicheng motions for him to step closer and he does, feet heavy as he carries himself across the room. He sits across from Sicheng, watching a smile creep up his features as he lights up the candles. He leaves his hands outstretched and Johnny hesitates to take them, eventually doing so when Sicheng raises his brows at him.

He doesn’t know what he expects, but Sicheng starts saying muted words he couldn’t hear even if he tried, and the drop of temperature in the room makes a chill run down his spine. It’s cold, and he can barely see past the candlelight range, Sicheng's grip on his hands tightening as his palms start to sweat again.

And then Sicheng goes quiet, lets go of his hands and turns back around for his backpack. There is a lump in his throat he can’t swallow down, his heart beating so loudly in his ears he thinks even Sicheng can hear it. When the other turns back to him he has his knife in hands, blade shining orange with the fire.

“Give me your hand,” Johnny does without hesitation, and Sicheng grips him firmly by the wrist. “This is going to hurt a little, more than it did last time.”

Johnny swallows thickly. “Okay.”

“It won’t be for long, though, and he is going to love it.”

Johnny doesn’t get the chance to make questions before Sicheng's blade is gliding across his palm and tearing his skin apart. It stings, it so badly stings and he wants to pull his hand away but Sicheng's grip on him is deadly. He watches in fascination as the blood flows out his hand and stains the steel of the knife as well as its handle, coats his entire hand and drips down Sicheng's finger and the hardwood floor.

Sicheng faces his hand down so the blood drips straight into the center of the pentagram, silent words flowing out his lips like a mantra once again. The room gets even quieter and colder and Johnny can’t even hear his own breathing or the thundering of his heart. There is nothing, and the moment Sicheng opens his eyes again and looks up at him all the candles go out.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, out of breath, blood still dripping down on the floor. “ _Sicheng_.”

Sicheng hushes him, watching their surroundings. “Be quiet.”

A shadow shifts over the bed, the rustling of bedsheets echoing through the room. He stumbles back, knocking over a couple of Sicheng's candles. Sicheng sighs at him, pulling him closer by the death grip he still has on his wrist. The silence is deafening but the way he feels is entirely too familiar: home.

“Hello?” he croaks out, voice lost somewhere in his throat, fingers tingling in anticipation.

It is then that he sees it, the black veil covering its features slowing falling on the floor as the figure moves. The familiar ink black hair makes him dizzy, the unsettling smile shining up at him with what little light gets into the room making him sick. This time, there is no rosary around his neck and burning his skin, and he doesn’t flinch away when it bends down to caress his cheek.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” Johnny knows that voice, has heard it in his dreams, calling out his name and asking him things. He definitely knows that voice.

He tries reaching up, to mimic the same movements being done to him, only to find his arms unable to move. He tries not to let panic settle in. “Do I know you?”

There is laughter and Johnny can clearly see the smile now, and does he wish he could just see a little bit more clearly. “Do you, Johnny?”

“How do I know you?” there is a frown on his face, his skin burning where fingers touch it.

“You’ve known me your whole life,” the voice sing-songs, thumb caressing his cheek.

It takes him a moment too long to answer, and he doesn’t register Sicheng letting go of his wrist and walking across the room, towards the window. He pulls one of the curtains open and daylight momentarily blinds Johnny, who shuts his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. The touch on his cheek is gone the second he closes his eyes, and it takes him a good minute to open them again.

There is a relatively short man standing not a foot away from him, and if Johnny had thought Sicheng was the most beautiful person he has ever seen this one was definitely some competition. Johnny recognizes him as the boy who was with Sicheng the day he first walked into the house. He immediately gets on his knees in reverence, noticing Sicheng doing the exact same.

“Hello, my lord,” Sicheng breathes out, still not looking up from the floor.

The boy walks up to Sicheng, completely ignoring Johnny’s entire existence. It is only then that Sicheng looks up, and it only takes the other to stretch out his hand and motion with his finger for him to get back on his feet.

The boy smiles, and Sicheng does the same, and then they are kissing and Johnny doesn’t know what to do with himself. It isn’t nearly as grotesque as it was the first time he saw them, the only blood now – apart from the one still dripping from his hand – being the one staining Sicheng's fingers.

The stranger clearly takes the lead, licking into Sicheng's mouth with familiarity, making him moan ever so softly. He runs his hand through his hair and down his neck, pulling him impossibly closer until there is not a gap between them. He can see Sicheng melt into his arms, any trace of the confident boy who was sucking his dick barely an hour ago completely gone.

Johnny can feel himself getting hard and he hates it, the smell and sight of blood making his head spin. And then they break apart, and he thinks he can finally breathe, only to have his hopes shattered as the black-haired boy reaches for Sicheng's hand and slips his blood-soaked fingers into his mouth.

Sicheng moans, loud and unabashedly, and Johnny can feel his dick twitch in his pants at the sound. He knows that’s what bliss looks like, the way he throws his head back and pants hard. Johnny watches with far too much intent as the other swirls his tongue around the digits, licking them clean and pulling them off with a loud pop.

There is a smile on his lips when he does so, blood staining his pearly white teeth as he goes in for another kiss. It amazes Johnny how pliant Sicheng is in his arms, how easily he allows himself to be lead headfirst into pleasure.

And then they part and the boy laughs airily, and it is probably the most haunting thing Johnny has ever heard. He doesn’t look up either. “Come on, Sicheng. How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing this and just call me Ten?”

Johnny snorts, looking up from the floor and right at the boy. The other has an eyebrow raised at him. “Ten? Like the number?”

“Is there a problem with that, boy?” his tone makes Johnny shudder, his mind immediately going blank. He can feel fear trying to build up inside him.

“Not– not at all,” he stutters, looking back down to the floor.

“Get off the floor, you look stupid.”

Sicheng has a dazed smile on his lips as he watches Johnny get back on his feet, and it is then that Johnny realizes there is a fresh cut on his lower lip. Ten walks up to him with a smile, light on his step, and Johnny really wants to back off but he can’t.

He gently reaches for Johnny’s wrist, bringing his hand to face level. Johnny can see his skin soaked with blood, running down his forearm and dripping from his elbow, but the initial pain is no longer there. He watches as Ten licks his own lips, looking up at him for a split second before focusing back on his hand.

Johnny can’t help the moan that bubbles up his stomach and rolls off his tongue when Ten’s tongue comes in contact with his hand, licking the blood off his fingers first and then moving on to his palm. He licks over the cut, dips his tongue into the cut and licks his skin clean. The initial sting that was once there is long gone along with the blood, and he can’t stop himself from gasping.

When Ten kisses him everything is too overwhelming, the press of his body against his, the heat of his tongue on his and the heavy taste of blood in his mouth. Johnny can see his eyes glistening red before his own falls shut, Ten licking into his mouth and kissing the breath out of him. Ten’s skin burns against his, a contrast to how cold the room feels, and Johnny finds himself melting into him just like Sicheng did moments before.

“He’s perfect,” Ten whispers, turning to look at Sicheng. Sicheng frowns at him.

“He is actually pretty stupid if you ask me.”

“I’m right here,” Johnny waves a hand at them, and Ten hushes him by placing his entire hand over his face.

“But he’s so pretty,” Ten is looking back at him now, dropping his hand from his face to his shoulder, red eyes glistening at him. This is the first time Johnny notices they are black where they are supposed to be white, and his mouth runs dry. “And he tastes so good, too.”

Sicheng walks up to them, eyes going back and forth between the two of them. Johnny can still see the reverence that was once there when Ten showed up, though it is a lot more subdued now. “What did you see in him, anyway?”

Ten looks at him, studying his features closely. It is intimidating; his presence is intimidating. Johnny can feel sheer power coming off his fingertips that run over his face ever so delicately. He doesn’t let his hand fall off Johnny’s shoulder as he walks around him, seizing him up in wonder.

“For everything a reason, Sicheng.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and it sends chills down Johnny’s spine.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” Johnny breathes out, trying not to interrupt them but doing exactly that. “First of all, why is it so fucking cold in this room?”

“I told you he’s an idiot,” Sicheng mutters under his breath, thinking he wouldn’t be heard. Ten glares at him and drops his hand off Johnny’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I forgot you’re like… human and all.” It only takes it a moment before the room starts warming up, and Johnny sighs in relief.

“Second of all,” he knows he must sound like the most ignorant person to have ever walked on earth, and maybe that’s how he is starting to feel whenever he is around Sicheng. He doesn’t entirely mind it. “How do you know me?”

“Oh, dear Youngho,” Ten pats his cheek lightly, a smile on his lips. “Don’t you remember? You created me on the day that you were born.”

The silence that follows is thick and heavy and Johnny can almost feel it in the air. He stares at Ten for far too long, into his black and red eyes, at his stained red smile and he thinks. He tries to think back to his childhood, to all the possible moments he could have come across the boy in front of him, only to come up with nothing.

Ten smiles wider at him, his hand going from his cheek to his eyes, sliding them shut. His palm is warm against his skin, and he welcomes darkness like an old friend. Ten starts humming, as if trying to recall a memory, and Johnny’s blood starts to boil in his veins.

His mind flashes to when he was six, to that one day his life turned upside down. He can see himself crying, the dead bird standing not a foot away from him. Then there is him in his treehouse, the shadow in the mirror and the impending sense of fear in his stomach. The dead bird by the tree, now buried deep down for so many years, the box under his bed.

There is Yuta kissing him in his bedroom, the shards of his porcelain elephant, the thing in his closet. The shadow he tried so hard to ignore in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. The dinner with his mother’s _friend_ that one night, and the anger he felt towards the man, and then the dead bird served for display on his plate.

Then there is Taeil and anger immediately boils up. Taeil with his sweet smile and roaming hands, leaving him hard in his bed, his broken lamp and pendant scattered around his floor. Johnny can feel his eyes burn as Ten removes his hand from him.

“You created evil, Johnny.” There is a smile on Ten’s lips, one that doesn’t waver despite the deep frown on Johnny’s face. “I am the omen that you worship on all fours. For I, Ten, the thing in the dark, am everything unholy you never knew you wished for.”

Johnny immediately falls to his knees, hot tears unwillingly spilling down his cheeks. His hands shake uncontrollably as he closes them into fists, knuckles coming down hard against the floor, busting the skin open. Both Ten and Sicheng kneel down next to him, Ten’s hand lifting his head up by the chin. Everything is blurry before him.

“I’ve never seen someone as dedicated to anything as Sicheng is, you know.” Ten starts off again, and Johnny looks at Sicheng just in time to see surprise wash over his face. “I’ve been trying to get you two to meet for all those years, Johnny, but you are more work than I figured you’d be.”

“Am I…” Sicheng chokes out, pupils shaking. This is the first time Johnny sees him be not so sure of himself. “Was I just a puppet for you?”

Ten reaches out to him with his free hand, cupping his cheek sweetly. The smile on his lips never falters. “After all those years of hard work and devotion… How can you think that?”

Sicheng looks down at his hands, at a loss of words. Johnny reaches out to him, sliding his busted hand into his and intertwining their fingers together. Sicheng looks up at him, hesitant if anything. Johnny tries his best to smile despite the fire in his stomach.

“The two of you, together,” Ten pulls them closer to him, their breaths mingling. “Together you are unstoppable. With my power, of course, but nothing can stand in your way.”

Sicheng's eyes glisten as he looks at Ten, lips pressed together in a thin line. Johnny blinks and then they are kissing again, Sicheng putting all his weight down on Ten until the other is lying against the hardwood floor. He kisses Ten like he means it, a tinge of anger on the way he grips onto his clothes and pushes him harder onto the floor.

All Ten does is cradle his fingers through his hair, indulging him on, spreading his legs apart so Sicheng can better fit on top of him. Johnny can’t help but wonder how many times they have done this before, what with the way they move perfectly together, the way Sicheng easily licks his way into Ten’s mouth and the way his hands grip at his thighs.

It is the first time Johnny hears Ten moan and it goes straight to his dick. The other grinds up against Sicheng, rolling his hips rhythmically against Sicheng's dick, who grinds down on him just as heatedly as they kiss. Johnny feels himself grow harder at the sight, Ten hooking his leg around Sicheng's waist and bringing him closer to his dick.

The both of them moan melodically, the sound echoing through the room, leaving Johnny a bit dizzy. Sicheng breaks apart for air, lips shiny with spit, panting as he stares the other down. He kisses right under Ten’s jaw and Ten moans unabashedly at the feeling. He keeps going down, trailing from his neck to his collarbone and it turns Johnny impossibly on to see Ten unravel under Sicheng's touch like that.

Sicheng's fingers ghost over Ten’s shirt, grabbing it by the hem and bunching it up his torso. Ten squirms under him as he bends down to flutter kisses over his stomach, thighs shaking as he throws his head back and moans. Sicheng doesn’t stop, keeps going down and over his navel, dipping his tongue in and making him moan even louder.

His fingers are quick to work on the button of his pants, pulling it down just enough to get his dick out of his underwear. Johnny can feel his mouth water as he watches them, Ten’s cock red in Sicheng's hand, not particularly long but thick enough. And Sicheng moans as he starts jerking him off, smearing precum over the head with his thumb, tongue running over his lower lip nervously.

Ten reaches down for him, threads his fingers through his hair so softly Johnny would have mistaken it for delicacy wasn’t for the position the two of them were in at the moment. He slides his hand down his face, stroking his cheek softly before patting his jaw twice. Sicheng opens up easily, sticking his tongue out and taking Ten’s fingers in when he presses two against the flat of his tongue.

Sicheng sucks on his fingers with intent, wrist not ceasing its movements as he swirls his tongue around the digits messily, spit dripping down his chin. Ten has his eyes on him, jaw slack as he watches Sicheng work him up. And when he pulls away, briefly wiping his fingers clean on Sicheng's shirt before he reaches for his neck. Johnny thinks he is going to lose his damn mind.

Sicheng takes the sign far too easily, licking the head of Ten’s cock a couple times before opening up and taking him in. Johnny watches in fascination as he goes down, down, down until his nose brushes against Ten’s pelvis, Ten’s head thrown back in pleasure, a loud moan ripping through his chest. Johnny can see Sicheng's throat move as he swallows around him, his muffled moans shaking him to the core.

It’s obscene, the way spit collects at the corners of his mouth and dribbles down Ten’s cock and his chin, the way he looks up at Ten with absolute reverence and lust, the way Ten keeps pushing him down by the neck until he gags around his cock.

He pulls back up and off him, coughing and tearing up at being gagged, lungs burning for air. But then he is going down on him again, just as quick and easily as before, making Ten’s moans rise in volume. He doesn’t give Ten or himself time to think or breathe, working his head up and down his cock, cheeks hollowing for added pleasure.

Johnny’s dick pulses in his pants and it hurts, and even as he presses down on his boner for relief it doesn’t make it any better. Sicheng is moaning loudly around Ten’s dick and Ten is moaning even louder, fingers digging into the skin of his neck and leaving red crescent dents on him. He can see Ten’s thighs quiver as Sicheng swallows around him, can see his fingers tremble as he reaches for his hair and attempts to pull him up.

Sicheng follows his commands too easily, pulling off with a loud pop, a thick string of saliva connecting his lips to the tip of Ten’s dick. Johnny cries a little when it pulses, red and wet and both Ten’s and Sicheng's attention turn to him.

Ten smiles at him, stroking his dick lazily as Sicheng crawls towards him. And when they kiss, more tongue than lips, making a mess of themselves Johnny knows he is definitely losing his mind. He can’t breathe, wouldn’t remember how to with the way Sicheng shoves his tongue down his throat, hands grabbing at his clothes in an attempt to pull them off.

“Up,” Ten’s voice comes out hoarse and they break to look at him. “Bed, now.”

Sicheng pulls him up by the shirt, stumbling over his own feet as he makes his way to the bed. It is big enough to fit the three of them comfortably, and Johnny barely catches sight of Ten stalling behind to go through Sicheng's stuff.

Sicheng pushes him down the mattress with far too much force, straddling his hips when he climbs on top of him to suck on the skin of his throat. Johnny hopes it will leave a hickey, Sicheng's teeth biting down on him hard enough to draw blood. It doesn’t, though, and the other pouts when he sees it didn’t actually work.

Ten coughs loudly, making both their heads snap in his direction as the bed dips down with his weight. And then Johnny sees it, the glint of Sicheng's knife against the light filtering in through the window, his blood boiling up at all the possibilities. His thumb runs over the sharp blade, skin tearing almost immediately, the droplets of fresh blood staining the steel.

“You know, Johnny,” Ten speaks up again, eyes glued to the blade. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good you taste and how hard you make me. Will you let me?”

Johnny stares blankly at him, Sicheng's lips back on his neck as he grows bored. “Let you what?”

“Taste you again,” he says simply, eyes flickering up from the blade directly to him. Johnny can see now how much darker his eyes have gotten, the red almost completely gone, replaced by pitch black. He can still see the glint in them. “Will you let me taste you again?”

He can’t even bring himself to say no, not when he opens his mouth and all that comes out is a broken moan as Sicheng bites down at the junction of his neck with his shoulder, licking it right after. He nods, hips bucking up to try and find any sort of friction against Sicheng, only to have the other peel himself off him with the blink of an eye.

He is about to protest when Ten sits on top of him, placing the knife right next to his head. Johnny swallows around the lump in his throat, hands itching to reach up and undress him but finding them unable to move. Something in his stomach stirs the right way when does that to him instead, pulling his shirt over his head with ease, doing the same with his pants and underwear.

A chill runs down his spine at the feeling of being so exposed, Ten’s eyes heavy on him. He can hear Sicheng pant somewhere to his left, briefly registers the boy lazily stroking himself as he watches. Ten runs his hands down his sides, over his thighs and grips him firmly by the legs.

It’s embarrassing, the way he squeaks when Ten pulls him further down the bed, sitting on his tummy. His fingers are like fire when they touch his cheeks, his tongue like lava as it slips past his lips and into his mouth. And _oh_ he tastes so good, and it’s so addicting, and Johnny doesn’t think he could ever taste anything else again.

There is no rush in the way they kiss, no rush in the way Ten takes his time licking every corner of his mouth, tiny mewls bleeding into his mouth for him to swallow. He could spend a lifetime like this, he supposes, with Ten’s weight on top of him, his hands roaming over his body, his breath being kissed again.

But then he feels it, the heavy taste of iron in his mouth. And when Ten parts, a smile on his face, his otherwise pearly white teeth are stained red, blood smeared over his lips and running down his chin. He can’t help the way arousal makes his blood boil in his veins, the way it makes his dick twitch and get even harder.

Ten gives him a knowing laugh before reaching for the knife sitting right next to his head, his smile never faltering.

“It’s not going to hurt,” he reassures him when Johnny shivers at the glint of the blade. “I promise you.”

Johnny gives him a brief nod, fully expecting it to be a lie. And maybe Ten is good at reading, giving him a funny look before reaching for his hands. It is only then that he notices the cut in his palm no longer stings, the blood long dried down on his skin. He watches with intent as Ten studies his hands, black eyes roaming over his skin before he makes a move.

Johnny feels it, feels the coldness of the sharp blade on his skin, feels Ten dig it in and glide it over his palm, tearing the skin apart. He watches as blood immediately starts flowing out again, wetting his hand and his forearm in crimson red as he moves on to the previously cut one, doing the exact same. He can see it all, feel it all except for the pain.

There is no sting, no burning sensation as a gush of cold wind blows past them, the smell of blood quickly taking over the room. And Ten smiles, again, at his amused expression at his hands, at his own blood staining his skin. He doesn’t wait for Johnny to say anything, runs the blade down his body until he reaches his thighs.

The feeling is there again, the press of the blade on his skin, the feeling of it tearing him apart, how hot it feels to have his blood run down the sides of his legs to pool on the mattress, and yet the sting isn’t there. None of it hurts except for his dick pulsing as he gets harder at the sight of it all.

Ten tosses the blade aside and starts undressing himself, and Johnny watches in awe lean muscles be revealed as he peels his clothes off. His skin burns wherever Ten touches him, his stomach on fire as Ten settles on top of him again. There is still blood dripping down his face when he reaches for Johnny’s wrists and brings his hands to face level.

He shudders when Ten cups his hands on his cheeks, eyes slipping shut as he does so, and his stomach churns as blood smears over his face and stains his perfectly smooth skin. And then he pokes out his tongue and licks at his wounds, drinking up the blood that won’t stop flowing out the harder he grips at his wrists.

“Looks good on you,” he breathes out. Ten’s eyes flutter open, and Johnny can see the red again. “All that blood, it looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes.”

Ten laughs that haunting laugh of his again, making Johnny shiver under his touch. He places Johnny’s hands on his torso and lets go of him, and for the first time Johnny finds himself able to move on his own accord.

He runs his hands down Ten’s sides and slides them to his back, laying them flat on his skin as he pushes him and presses him down on his chest. He is aware of the mess they make when they kiss, the blood being smeared over his own face and Ten’s back, and he moans loud and clear when Ten adjusts his position just enough to rub his ass against his dick.

Johnny runs his hands further down his back until he’s got them over Ten’s ass. Ten moans when he squeezes his cheeks, when he spreads them apart and makes him grind back against his dick once again. He can feel precum bead at the tip of his cock, head spinning at how warm the entire room suddenly feels.

It is only when Sicheng curses under his breath that Ten stops kissing him. He turns to the boy, staring him for a moment as if trying to find his words.

“Sicheng,” his voice sounds strained, and Johnny can’t help but find it extremely hot. “Would you perhaps have any lube in your bag?”

“Perhaps I would,” Sicheng chokes out, leaving his spot on the bed to look for his bag.

Johnny would laugh at the way he stumbles across the room wasn’t for Ten’s weight on top of him, his hands heavy on his chest as he holds himself upright. Sicheng stretches his hand out for him to take the lube and Ten grabs him by the wrist instead, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss, swallowing each one of Sicheng's moans.

“Thank you love,” he smiles against Sicheng's lips, pushing him off and making him settle back down on his previous spot.

Johnny fully expects Ten to fuck himself open when he pushes himself off him, given the position they were in mere moments ago. He doesn’t expect Ten to settle between his legs, pushing them further apart and bending down to lick over his bleeding thighs. He doesn’t expect him to kiss up his inner thighs until he is barely a breath away from his ass, for him to stroke his dick a couple times with a bloody hand as he spreads his cheeks apart with the other.

He definitely doesn’t expect him to lick over his rim, the warmth of blood making him moan so loudly he can feel his face heat up immediately. Ten keeps teasing him, wetting him even more the more he moans. He isn’t really complaining, though, for Ten’s tongue feels incredible and he can’t help but whine for more.

The push of the first finger in makes him gasp and grasp tightly at the sheets, toes curling as the cool digit feels him up on the inside. And it feels good, so good as Ten presses kisses to his inner thighs, licking up the blood that runs down the sides.

Ten curls his finger inside him, slowly but surely working him open. He loves it, the pace he keeps his finger going and the way his tongue keeps licking him up, and how, even though it should be impossible, blood just keeps flowing out of his body and making a mess of the sheets and himself.

Ten looks up at him briefly, chin, lips and teeth stained red as he flashes him a smile. And then there is a second finger pushing past his rim, stretching him further and making him moan again. His vision flashes white as Ten pushes up to the second knuckle, immediately curling them to feel around him again. Johnny is sure this is supposed to hurt or at least sting a bit, but all he can feel is pleasure at how good the fingers feel inside him.

And Ten doesn’t really waste his time, starts scissoring him the moment his moans rise in volume and as he throws his head back, pushes his tongue past the muscles to join his fingers if only to make him lose his mind. It works, I really fucking works, Johnny’s hands flying to grip at Ten’s hair, pushing his face further to try and get his tongue deeper.

Ten fucks him faster, seeming as impatient as Johnny feels, moans of his own lost somewhere in his throat. Johnny barely registers Sicheng's soft mewls next to him, doesn’t see him fuck his fist as he watches the both of them. Johnny wishes he had the focus energy to watch him watch them, but all he can focus on is how ridiculously good Ten is making him feel.

Three fingers has Johnny drooling, fingers pulling at Ten’s hair so tightly he is sure the other’s scalp hurts, whines and mewls falling off his lips like a mantra. All he wants is to get fucked and he makes sure Ten knows it with the way he spreads his legs further open, the way he calls out his name and brings his attention all to himself. He’s been waiting so damn long for this, waiting since that damn day two years prior when Taeil just fucking left him. He will get what he wants no matter what it takes.

“Your thoughts are so damn loud,” Ten breathes out, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets. “Turn around.”

Johnny gets on his stomach with a bit of struggle, his dick hurting as it gets pressed between and mattress and himself. It’s easy for him to see Sicheng this way, how wrecked he looks, lips shiny with spit and fingers sticky with precum. Sicheng smiles at him, halting the movements of his fist to dress himself completely, settling back closer to Johnny’s head.

“You good?” the smile on his lips doesn’t falter, as if trying to reassure him that things are going to be okay. He cups Johnny’s cheek with his clean hand and Johnny immediately opens his mouth up, asking. It takes Sicheng a moment to register before he slips two fingers in, pressing them hard against his tongue. “You’re awful, I love it.”

Ten pushes one of his legs up to bend it and supports his weight on him, adjusting his position around before he gets on moving. Johnny barely has time to get used to his weight on him before he is pressing the slick tip of his dick against his rim, enough pressure for him to feel it but not enough to push it in.

He gasps, a broken moan making its way up and Sicheng uses the opportunity to push his fingers further into his mouth, spit soaking them up as he presses down on his tongue. Johnny tears up as he gags, pushing himself onto his forearms so he can at least breathe better, coughing when Sicheng doesn’t let up.

Ten pushes in at the same time Sicheng takes his fingers out of his mouth and Johnny nearly screams, voice somewhere between a moan and a sob. He can hear Ten hissing behind him, can feel the other shake as he tries to ground himself and keep the pace slow and steady as he keeps pushing, pushing, pushing until he is all the way down to the base.

Sicheng bends down to kiss him, drinks up all of his moans as he licks over his tongue. Johnny can feel the heavy taste of blood in his mouth, briefly parts only to see it running down the corners of Sicheng's mouth and staining his teeth when he smiles down at him. Johnny doesn’t question it, has learned not to do so for a while now.

Sicheng's tongue is warm as he licks into his mouth and turns him putty in his hands, making him relax enough for Ten to get moving. It’s slow, so fucking slow, the drag of Ten’s dick against his walls, the way he rolls his hips ever so slightly to get any sort of friction. Johnny feels like he could die right then and there, heart pounding in his chest and thundering in his ears as he tries to focus on one thing despite it seeming impossible to.

Ten digs his nails into his flesh hard enough to draw blood as he tries to keep himself steady, as he tries not to pick up his pace and fuck him hard into the mattress. Johnny would certainly love it, to be fucked hard and rough into the bed like that, hard enough that he wouldn’t be able to remember his own name. But he is glad that Ten gives him enough room to adjust, enough time for him to get comfortable and get his breathing steady.

It takes him a while until he is pushing back on Ten’s dick, moaning into Sicheng's mouth as he tries to roll his hips and ground himself at the same time. He feels so full, so fucking full it’s all but disorientating, the way Ten pushes at all the right buttons, fingers digging deeper into his flesh.

“Fuck,” Ten moans as he pulls his dick out until only the tip is left inside, dragging a loud moan out of Johnny’s chest that rolls straight into Sicheng's mouth. “Fuck, Johnny, you feel so much better than I thought.”

Johnny breaks the kiss to try and look back at him but Sicheng doesn’t let him, cupping his cheeks with both hands and keeping his attention all to himself. There is still a smile on his lips as they lock eyes, it getting even wider when Ten pushes back inside with slightly more force and Johnny screws his eyes shut in pleasure. Sicheng's thumb rubs over his lower lip, Johnny’s tongue coming out to lick it on instinct the second he feels the contact.

He doesn’t manage to open his eyes again when Ten starts setting a faster rhythm to his hips as he fucks him open, broken moans coming out every time Ten’s hips hit against his ass. Sicheng doesn’t seem to mind it, pushes his fingers back into his mouth for him to suck on and he tries his damn best to do so.

Not that he’s ever given head to anyone before, really, but still makes an effort to swirl his tongue around the digits and coat them up with saliva. Sicheng moans softly at the feeling and Johnny pictures him with his face all blissed out as he watches him with intent. He wishes he had enough willpower to open his eyes and look at him, but the thought is lost when Ten fucks him a certain way that makes his vision flash even with his eyes closed.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he moans out on instinct, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

“Don’t fucking say that,” Ten nearly growls, pressing his chest against his back to bite down on his shoulder. It is the first time that Johnny feels pain, a yelp replacing his moan as Ten sinks his teeth on his skin. “How can you say that when I’m fucking you?”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny tries, words dragging out into a moan as Ten picks up his pace. It feels so good, to have his ass full of cock with the sting on his shoulder. When he finally manages to open up his eyes again Sicheng's expression has completely darkened, at it only takes them locking eyes for him to press his fingers down his tongue until he is gagging and trying to get him to stop.

His limbs shake as pleasure builds up in his body and makes the knot in his stomach tighten, and his dick hurts so fucking much he just wants to wrap his hand around it and jerk himself to release. There is no room for it though, not when Ten is pressing himself to hard against his back, panting in his ear as he grabs him by the neck and fucks him harder and faster.

“Johnny, dear,” Ten breathes into his ear, words coming out sounding like a struggle. Johnny wants to think Ten is as wrecked up as he feels. “Why don’t you give Sicheng a little more attention, hm?” Johnny hums, looking up to look into Sicheng's eyes. “Can’t you see how hard he is for you? For us?”

Johnny can, in fact, see it. He can see how red his dick is, precum oozing from the tip and sticking to where his dick rests against his thigh. Johnny licks his lips, eyes darting back up to Sicheng's face.

“Sicheng, baby, how would you like it if our Johnnyboy sucked you off?”

Sicheng replies with a loud moan, hand gripping his dick by the base to jerk himself off again. Johnny licks his lips again and that’s all it takes for Sicheng to press the tip of his cock to his lips, smearing precum over the skin. Johnny can see as blood mixes up and makes a mess on his dick.

“Come on, Johnny. Be a good boy for me,” Ten whispers by his ear, nibbling on his earlobe as he snaps his hips hard against his ass.

Johnny moans at his words, sticking his tongue out to lick the head of Sicheng's cock when he rubs it over his lips again. The way Sicheng moans encourages him to keep going and he does, licking under the head and swirling his tongue around before tentatively taking the cock into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Sicheng breathes out, sounding completely broken, fingers threading through Johnny’s hair right before he grasps tightly onto him. It’s guiding more than it is forcing, the way he pushes Johnny’s head further down his dick, drool running down his chin as his jaw goes slack.

There’s still blood dripping down from his mouth, Johnny can see it as it drips down his stomach and pools by the base of his dick, and it’s so damn gross and disgusting but he can’t help but get harder at the sight of it. It also helps that Ten won’t relent on pounding his ass, barely brushing against his prostate on purpose, and the way Sicheng pushes him down until his dick hits the back of his throat and makes him gag.

Sicheng keeps the pace slow, lets him bob his head gently as moans spill from his lips like it’s the only thing he knows how to do. It’s a contrast to how gradually harder and faster Ten fucks him, grunting right by his ear as if to make sure Johnny knows how good he feels, sweaty chest sticking to his equally as sweaty back. It feels so good, so fucking good, to feel so full like this, Ten’s cock dragging against his walls and Sicheng's filling up his mouth.

“Feel so good,” Ten’s words drag into a moan as he slows down, rolling his hips and allowing his dick to go deeper. Johnny moans around Sicheng's cock as Ten presses against his prostate. “You feel so fucking good.”

He can feel himself tear up and it’s pretty pathetic, but Ten’s hips are unrelenting and Sicheng won’t let him come up for air and he can’t _breathe_ , his vision flashing and the tips of his fingers tingling as the coiling feeling in his stomach grows tighter. He wants to come, he wants to come so bad and he can’t even say anything with a mouthful of cock.

But then Ten is pulling out, body half collapsing on top of him and Johnny whines, whines so loud not even Sicheng's cock is able to muffle it up completely. Sicheng lets him breathe for once, pulls his head up and off his cock and he nearly coughs up a lung. He tries to complain, and in his head the words are pretty clear, but in reality all that comes out is a string of whines along with jumbled up words.

Ten chuckles at him, licks a stripe up his back, biting at the junction between his neck and shoulders. His teeth are sharp as they sink in, bruising his skin and making his whines turn into a moan.

“Turn around,” Ten commands, voice raspy, and Johnny almost immediately does so.

It’s breathtaking to see Ten like this, hair a mess and blood stained skin covered in a sheen layer of sweat. His eyes are completely black as he stares Johnny down, tongue running over his lower lip before he bends down to kiss him. The metallic taste of blood is still there, though it no longer flows out of his mouth and Johnny’s head spins for a second.

Ten pushes back in before they even part the kiss and his moans go straight into his mouth, Ten swallowing each and every one of them. He registers the bed moving as they kiss and barely does so as Sicheng pushes Ten off him.

Sicheng straddles his chest with his thighs, sitting on top of him in order to kiss Ten himself. Johnny wants to tell him he can’t breathe like this, what with him sitting right on his ribcage, but the words get lost in his throat when Sicheng bends forward to kiss the other just as Ten starts fucking him again.

He can’t really see it, wouldn’t be able to with Sicheng's whole body blocking his vision, but what he can see is Sicheng's ass right in front of him. He doesn’t think twice before holding him by the hips and pulling him back, back until Sicheng is practically sitting on his face. He can hear Sicheng gasp as he blows against his rim, as he pushes his tongue out to lick him tentatively. He decides he likes his reactions very much.

He eats Sicheng out like he means it, thriving off the little mewls and moans he lets slip into Ten’s lips. He works his tongue as fast as Ten fucks him open, slipping it past his rim to fuck him just as Ten’s rhythm starts to falter. And then there is a hand on his dick, and he doesn’t fucking know whose it is, and it doesn’t really matter because it feels so good he think she might pass out from pleasure.

He is, undoubtedly so, the first one to come. He doesn’t really see it coming, the tingling in his fingers and the numbing of his brain not giving him enough time to send out a warning when a thumb runs over the head of his cock and presses down on the slit. He comes so hard he thinks he passes out for a moment, his moans being muffled down by Sicheng's ass on his face.

Sicheng probably comes next, what with the way he fully sits on Johnny’s face, his entire body shaking. Johnny can feel something warm on his body and he can’t tell if it’s Sicheng's cum or his blood. He hopes it’s both.

Ten comes with a loud moan and makes a scene of it, body trembling as he struggles to keep himself upright. He doesn’t pull out, for that matter, and the feeling of being filled up with hot, sticky cum is too overwhelming for Johnny to handle. He whines, trying to push both Ten and Sicheng off him, but both of them only move once Ten stops coming and shaking.

Johnny can feel cum run down his ass when Ten finally pulls out, and he knows it’s gross but he loves it. For once in his life he feels sated instead of frustrated, and he allows his eyes to slip shut as bliss takes over him. he doesn’t know how long they stay there, in silence, once Sicheng gets off his chest and settles right next to him. it doesn’t really matter, because at this point time seems like a complete lie and entirely unimportant.

He comes back to it with a tongue licking over the wounds on his right hand, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Ten licking off whatever blood was still left. He still does look up at him and hums at the other, who momentarily stops his ministrations to smile into his hand before continuing what he was doing. It feels good, to have Ten’s hot tongue lapping over the cuts on his hand, and he allows his eyes to slip shut once again.

“You know, Johnny,” Ten speaks into his palm for a moment before settling on his side, looking down at him. Johnny hums, not opening his eyes again just yet. “I hope you know everything I’ve done all those years was to protect you, even if you were pretty rude to me sometimes.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmurs, burying his nose into Sicheng's hair, who is pretty much asleep to his left. His hair smells like lemons and sweat.

“The birds, you dumbass.” Johnny frowns, finally looking up at him. “Very rude of you to just discard my gifts like that.”

“Your gifts?” he half yells, mindful of the sleeping Sicheng next to him. “First of all, the thing in my ceiling was _you?_ ”

“I was trying to befriend you! But you’re dense as shit!”

Johnny scoffs. “You were dropping fucking dead animals all around me and you wanted me to think something was trying to _befriend_ me?!”

“Well we clearly have very different principles and you better get used to it.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything back, just stares at him in utter disbelief. There is a smile pulling at the corners of Ten’s mouth that he hates so fucking much, hates that he wants to pull him down and kiss him until they can’t breathe. When silence stretches for too long for comfort, Ten keeps on talking.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pauses, studying his face closely. Johnny looks at him quizzically. “You really have no idea of the things she’s done.”

“I’ll need you to be a bit clearer with me on this?” his voice is just a dash of shaky and he doesn’t know why. Something in his stomach doesn’t sit very well.

“I’ve seen everything since the day you were born. I saw the way your father loved you, Johnny. You were the apple of his eye. There was not a single thing he wouldn’t have done for you, and like me, he was just trying to protect you up until the day he died. Before I move on and tell you everything, I want you to know this. Your father loved you to no end, and I had never witnessed anything as strong as his love for you.

“But your mother… she’s greedy. Her greediness knows no limits and I think your father noticed that at some point. He hoped she would change after you were born, I could see that much in him. But, truth be told, having a child was the biggest burden she was ever put through in her entire life. And this isn’t your fault, how could it be a child’s fault?

“And I tried to protect you. Every time she would try to do something to you I’d protect you. She was trying to hurt you, you know, and I couldn’t let it happen, so I hurt her instead.”

Johnny doesn’t know what to say, only stares at the other as he speaks. And it’s not like Ten gives him much room to speak either, so he just lays there and listen, stomach turning with every word he says.

“Your mother, she… she started cheating on your dad, some time after you turned two. Your dad didn’t know, at first, how could he when he was out working most of the day? But of course he caught on. He was absolutely heartbroken when he found out, you know? No one had cried by your crib that much since the day you were born. And yet he didn’t say anything. He kept it all to himself, because he was trying to give you a better life. Away from her.

“He was going file for divorce. He was working with a lawyer in secret and he had the papers ready when he got a promotion at work. He was going to make so much money, and he was ecstatic that he would be able to move away with you faster than he expected. But then… she found out.

“She saw the divorce papers one day when he was putting you to sleep, and oh she was so angry. But she wasn’t angry because she would no longer have him or you around, no. She was angry because he was going to leave her with nothing. He was going to take custody of you and leave her with no pennies to fend for herself, and I mean, rightfully so.

“But you see, with his promotion at work, his life insurance would be higher than it already was should anything happen to him, and she knew that. It was so much money in question and she wanted it all to herself, and she couldn’t bear the idea of losing it. But the tricky thing was that it would only be fully handed to her if they were still married and they still had you. She didn’t let him know she knew about the divorce, only so she could set up her plan in peace.

“Because I wasn’t as powerful as I am today I couldn’t stop her. One night, she cooked them dinner and waited for him to come back home from work while you were asleep in your room. You looked so peaceful and she just ripped all your innocence away from you. They sat on opposite ends of the table, as far away from each other as possible, you know. That way she could stare straight at him.

“Halfway through dinner, he… she was smiling at him so weirdly, so wicked, and he had no idea. Did you know that wolf’s bane is poisonous? Acotine either gives you respiratory system paralysis or sends you into cardiac arrest. So halfway through dinner he started having a heart attack, because of course he didn’t know his drink was poisoned, and she just watched him die. She watched him die with a smile, and I tried so hard to keep you asleep so you wouldn’t hear it.”

“So she killed him?” is the first thing Johnny manages to say, brain trying to filter through the words, voice lost somewhere in him. He can feel his blood boil with anger, fingers trembling as he grasps onto the sheets. “She _killed him?_ ”

“She killed him. Wolf’s bane is pretty much undetectable in your system if autopsy isn’t done quickly, and she did wait a whole twenty minutes before she called emergency. And she put up such a good act, I must give her that. She sent herself into hysterics as she dialed up the number, and then you woke up with all the screaming.

“They took about fifteen minutes to get to your house, and by then it was too late for them to know what actually happened. She had thrown the drink down the drain, they would never know. Official cause of death was a heart attack and, as planned, she got to keep the money all to herself. Having to keep you around sure was a nightmare for her, and I can’t even begin to tell you how awfully bad she treated you before you moved here.

“I made an effort to wipe out your memories from before you were six because I don’t think you deserve to remember any of it. I’ve loved you all along, Johnny, and I would do anything for you. I have been doing everything for you, really, even though you’ve refused to acknowledge me up until recently.”

“I can’t believe–” Ten doesn’t let him finish.

“That time when you were, like, fifteen? And your mother had someone over. Do you remember that?”

Johnny does remember it. He remembers the cold feeling in his dining room, remembers the lights going out, remembers praying to anything that was willing to listen to him. And of course he remembers the bird, the shriek his mother let out and the way the guy stormed out of their house. Johnny remembers it all too well.

“I do,” he replies, mouth running dry.

“She was going to do the same to him. She had her eyes on his money and she was going to kill him just like she killed your dad. So when I heard you praying to whoever would listen that you wanted him out, I pulled my own strings. Scaring him off was the only way he wouldn’t come back. And you liked it, didn’t you? I could feel your anger boil and it made me so happy. To see you be evil, even if unconsciously so.”

“Where is she now, truly?”

Ten hesitates for a moment, eyes glued to his lips, as if wondering if he should say what he is going to say next. He does. “Out of town, as you know. But she has another family.”

Johnny’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t think there is a reason he should believe any of it, but with the amount of time she’s been spending out of town it would make so much sense. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I am?” he doesn’t. Johnny shakes his head no. “She’s gonna do it again, Johnny. You have to stop her.”

Johnny feels like he could vomit. “I– I can’t– how would I _do_ that?”

“You can do anything you want with my power. Don’t you think she deserves to have all the pain she has caused you right back at her?” he pauses when Johnny purses his lips in thought. “Wasn’t that the whole reason behind you burning that cross? It’s time.”

Sicheng stirs awake beside him, snuggling closer to his chest. He presses kisses up the column of his neck, arms wrapping around his torso. His warmth calms Johnny’s rapidly beating heart a little, and Johnny starts feeling like he can breathe again.

“Can I… think about it? For a while. I need time.” Ten hums at him, bending down to press a kiss to his temple. His lips are warm, very much unlike the touch of his fingers.

He doesn’t know how much time passes as they stay in bed like that. Not that it matters, because for once Johnny feels good about himself and about the ones around him. Ten pulls him into a cuddle like it’s nothing, and the warmth of the two bodies beside him is enough to lure him into sleep.

Johnny doesn’t dream of anything this time around. It is no longer cold and there is no silk, no red eyes staring him down or bloodied hands reaching up to him. There is only darkness around him and the familiar feeling of home.

 

**vi. pan**

Johnny does think about it for days to come. He thinks so hard about it he gives himself a migraine every other day.

Walking into his house after that day was all but an unpleasant experience. He couldn’t bear looking at his mother’s belongings without feeling anger bubble up his stomach, without feeling utter disgust for her. Ten’s voice still echoes in his head, telling him all the horrible things he had done to him and his father, and he can’t stand the thought of it.

He knows it’s terrible, to feel hatred towards a family member like that. But does it really matter? Does it matter when all she has done for him was because of money? Does it matter when she doesn’t even fucking love him to begin with and would have gotten rid of him the first opportunity she had wasn’t for his dad’s insurance money.

And isn’t that exactly what she is doing now? Getting another family, not bothering coming home? She is getting herself rid of him without as much going through the consequences, because it wouldn’t even be considered as that if she came back home once in a while. It makes sense, it makes so much sense and it angers him so much.

He throws away all her crosses and crucifixes he can find the moment he is stable enough to not break the entire house. He would definitely have burnt all of them if he didn’t think it would raise suspicions from his neighbors. The last thing he wants is a nosy neighbor peeking through the fence to watch him burn things.

It takes him a while to text Sicheng back and to see Ten again. When he does see Ten it’s in the mirror of his bathroom, right behind him, and now he doesn’t feel scared like he used to. It is comforting to see the shadow take form, to see it have a face that smiles up at him when called by the name. and his heart beats fast, so fucking fast, but he knows this isn’t fear. Devotion is the only thing that comes to mind to describe how he feels.

Ten beams at him when he tells him he will follow through with it, asks him how they are supposed to do it.

“Don’t worry, my child,” Ten tells him with a knowing smile. Johnny’s heart does a flip. “I can lure her into town without her even knowing where she is or be aware of what she’s doing for that matter.”

“So you can get her over here without anyone knowing? Because I mean… people would definitely notice if they see her walking around.”

Ten hums, locking eyes with him through the mirror. Johnny can feel the weight of a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me on this one. We’ll have her at the house. The other one, not this. Sicheng will help you with anything you need.”

“Does he know?”

Ten chuckles. “Of course he knows. The witch will do anything for power.”

“And you…?” he lets himself trail off, unsure where he was going to begin with.

Ten smiles. “The devil comes in many forms. I found him in myself, you found him in a lover.”

There is a rush of cold wind and then Ten is gone just as fast as he came, and Johnny is left alone to think about the meaning of those words. Not that he needs any more thinking, being aware of the nature of Ten’s entire existence by now. It is still chilling to think of it.

Solitude is an old friend of his, but as the days pass he realizes he can no longer stand being alone. He did bring this upon himself, having told both Sicheng and Ten he would make contact when he felt ready, and although he has already agreed on it he still doesn’t feel like he is fully ready to commit to it.

It’s something big, something bigger than him, and he thinks it’s reasonable to have second thoughts. But then he remembers all the time his mother forced him to pray saying that he was wrong or that he was lying, the amount of times he felt rice stick to his knees for days on end because she thought he had to pray for forgiveness for whatever it was she thought he had done wrong.

Wasn’t she the one in the wrong to begin with? Why was she so devoted to God, or whatever it was, when she had done so many horrible things in her life? Ten had told him she was trying to find redemption for all her sins, and while that is possible he doesn’t believe it one bit. Maybe she had gone insane after killing her husband. It would be reasonable, he thinks.

He isn’t trying to find excuses for her. The things she has done have no excuse for and he knows it all too well. Her greediness led her into killing his father, his father who loved him so dearly, and for that he is never going to forgive her. She doesn’t deserve forgiveness, anyway. No amount of prayer could save herself from a life so full of sin, murder permanently staining her hands.

Anger boils in his veins until he explodes, until he bursts out screaming in his room, fist flying to punch a hole through his wall. The decaying wooden panels give in easily under his fist, breaking and opening a perfect circle on the wall connecting his bedroom to his bathroom. He can’t bring himself to care at the bruising on his knuckles, the skin tearing apart and blood running down his fingers.

He watches as the blood drips down onto the floor to stain the wood panels, slipping through the gaps and going out of sight. His tongue is warm when he brings his hand up to his mouth and licks the wounds clean, savoring the metallic taste of blood.

 

📿

 

“You nervous?” Sicheng asks him once they are standing by the doorstep of the mansion, waiting for Ten’s sign to come in. Johnny looks at him, rubbing sweaty palms on his jeans.

“A little bit?”

Sicheng smiles at him. “It’s going to be okay. You know Ten’s gonna protect us, don’t you?”

He does know. Ten has reassured him countless times he would never let anything bad happen to him, and yet he is mildly terrified his mother will kill him or something. Both Ten and Sicheng told him that’s a stupid thought to have, and while he agrees he can’t really help but have it in the back of his mind.

The front door opens and Sicheng gives him another smile before stepping inside. He follows shortly after, following the other down the familiar path into the kitchen. Ten is sitting on top of the counter, a smile beaming at them.

“How are my best boys doing today?” his voice is slightly higher than the usual, Johnny notices. He seems to be in a really good mood.

“Great,” Johnny’s voice breaks, betraying him. Sicheng snorts as he sets his bag on the counter, shaking his head. “Everything is going to be okay, right?”

Ten motions with a finger for him to come closer, spreading his legs further apart. Johnny lets his feet drag himself across the room, slotting his body in between Ten’s legs. Ten cups his cheeks in both hands, bringing him into a kiss.

Johnny immediately relaxes in his hold, melting into him the more Ten licks into his mouth. It feels good like this, to feel secure and cared for, to feel like he matters. He places his hands on Ten’s hips to ground himself and prevent his knees from buckling, sighing into the kiss as Ten bites on his lower lip.

Sicheng joins in just as they part, a hand grabbing him by the back of his neck and bringing him into a kiss of his own. He is a lot more urgent than Ten ever is, eager to kiss him up and leave him breathless. He loves it, the fact that Sicheng is just as eager to please as he is himself. They really do make a good pair, he thinks to himself as Sicheng kisses him deeper, more desperately.

The sun has already set behind them, nightfall setting as a backdrop through the kitchen window. Unlike any other time Johnny has been here, the lights are on for once, and he thinks that maybe it’s to make things more believable. He can’t be sure.

“She should be here anytime now,” Ten tells him, fingers running through his hair. He can feel his heartrate drop significantly, a sudden rush of calmness hitting him. His eyes burn when he looks up at him. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” he reassures the other, a smile of his own mirroring the one on Ten’s lips. “I’m ready.”

“Do you have it, Sicheng?” Ten turns to him, eyebrow raised in question. Sicheng's smile widens.

“Of course I do,” he replies easily, rummaging through his bag for a while before pulling something out of it.

He places it right into Johnny’s hand, and the weight of it feels so nice it makes him wonder why he didn’t have one of his own up until now. The dagger’s steel blade shines under the artificial lighting, its curves making it that much prettier. The silver of its handle is cold in his hand, cravings Johnny can’t tell apart adorning every inch of it.

“Pretty,” he says more to himself than at them, and Ten smiles down at him again.

“It’s yours to keep now,” he places a kiss to his temple. “Use it wisely tonight, Johnnyboy.”

His smile is lazy when he looks up at Ten, when he pulls him down into another kiss, mindful of the dagger in his hand. Sicheng gently peels it off his hold before fitting himself in, and it’s so messy to kiss two people at the same time but Johnny loves it, loves the way spit quickly coats his chin and makes a mess of them all.

There is a knock on the back door and Ten quickly pulls away, hopping off the counter to answer it. Johnny watches in anticipation as the door opens up to reveal the figure of his mother standing there. She doesn’t seem to notice Ten not Sicheng, eyes immediately locking on him. She looks dazed out if anything.

“Johnny, my dear,” she smiles, making her way in and going for a hug. Johnny lets her, stomach churning in utter disgust as he lets his arms wrap around her. “I missed you so much, my son.”

“Missed you too, mom,” he lies through his teeth, petting her messy hair. He notices the hem of her long dress stained with mud and he can’t help but wonder where she’s been at and where did she come from, to have reached the backdoor instead of the front one.

“It feels so good to be back home,” she holds his hand, walking out of the kitchen and towards the dining room. Ten and Sicheng follow him closely, and Johnny catches a glimpse of Sicheng grabbing his dagger for him. “You look so skinny, son. Have you not been eating well?”

“It’s–” he cuts himself off, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. He studies her face closely, how her eyes seem unfocused. He figures it doesn’t really matter. “Haven’t been able to sleep all that well, is all.”

“Are you having nightmares again?” he hates that she sounds concerned when he knows she doesn’t give a shit. “Don’t drink caffeine before going to bed, I’ve told you that a million times.

“It’s not– it’s not caffeine,” he stammers out, grip on her hand tightening. “My problem isn’t caffeine. I will figure it out.”

She smiles apologetically at him, settling down in a seat by the dining table, motioning for him to follow. He sits across from her, where Ten has set everything for dinner. He doesn’t care about the food set in front of him as much as he cares about the woman sitting in the opposite chair. His blood boils with anger.

“Should we chat over dinner, mom?” he forces out a smile. Not that it matters. “To catch up on things?”

“That would be so nice!” she basically squeals, and Johnny wonders what were the extents of Ten’s power on her behavior. “The food looks lovely, Johnny. I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“Me neither,” he mutters under his breath, reaching for the portions to serve them out. “So, mom, why don’t you tell me how work’s been so far?”

She stares at him blankly for a while before putting on another unsettling smile. “Oh it’s been so wonderful, I have so many nice clients. I’ve met so many great people, I hope you’ll get to meet them one day! How have things been around here? Have you been meeting up with Yuta a lot?”

Johnny doesn’t touch his food, watches her eat instead. There is a long pause before he answers her. “Yuta’s been out of the country all summer, so I haven’t really seen him.”

She pouts, shoving a piece of meat into her mouth. “That’s too bad, I hope you haven’t been locked up inside because of that, though.”

“I haven’t,” is all he says, unable to string more coherent sentences without puking.

They sit there in silence, Johnny unable to keep on talking, his mother not finding any trouble on staying quiet and eating her food. Sicheng comes up from behind him to place the dagger next to his plate, its silver shining up at him. He lets his fingers run over the cravings before he speaks up again.

“So, mom,” he tries to sound casual, fingers wrapping around the dagger’s handle. “Why don’t you tell me what happened to my dad?”

The movements of her hands halt when she looks up at him from her plate. “Your father died of a heart attack, Johnny. A very unfortunate thing that happened, we couldn’t have known.”

He picks up the dagger, slowly getting on his feet, eyes never leaving her. “Why don’t you tell me the truth? About how you killed him, mom?”

She drops her cutlery with a loud noise on her plate and Johnny can see her fingers shaking. “What– what are you talking about?”

He smiles at her, making his way around the table. “Why don’t you tell me about how you killed him for money? Because you didn’t love him anymore and never really loved me to begin with? About how you found out he was going to file for divorce and keep custody of me. And then about how you poisoned him to death?”

“How–”

“You thought I’d never find out about your other family?” he whispers in her ear, watching in delight the way her entire body stiffens. “Did you know I created evil, mom? Because of you, I created evil on the day that I was born. And you know what? I’m fine with it.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” her voice wavers. He laughs at her, and for a moment he can’t recognize his own voice.

“You only pray when you want something, isn’t that right, mother?” he lifts the dagger to her chest, the sharp end right above her heart. She stops breathing, and Johnny can’t help but chuckle. When he speaks, his voice doesn’t seem like his own. “Where is your god now?”

She doesn’t scream when he digs the blade into her chest and through her heart, the feeling of the it going in unsettling in all the right ways. It feels even better to pull it out, blood flowing out of her chest and staining his arm and her dress. The dagger is equally as soaked, and he can feel himself get harder at the mere sight of blood.

Ten and Sicheng walk up to him in hurried steps, Sicheng taking the dagger away from his hold and setting it on top of the table. Ten makes work on his mother, pulls him out of her chair and lies him on the floor. Johnny watches in amusement as the life fades out of her eyes slowly but surely, her body going completely unresponsive.

Ten smiles up at him before turning back to her, Sicheng slipping on his side and intertwining their fingers together. Johnny can feel the blood on his hand smear against Sicheng's, and if it bothers the other he doesn’t make it known.

Johnny is pretty sure watching Ten dig his bare hands into his mother’s chest to pull out her still beating heart is the most terrifying thing he has ever witnessed in his entire life, yet he can’t bring himself to feel bothered about it. They watch as Ten gets soaked in blood, as he admires her heart like it is a trophy. And maybe it is, considering all the shit he has watched her do all those years.

It’s a prize for Johnny as much as it is for Ten, to finally be rid of the thing that has made him suffer so much for so long. Sicheng squeezes his hand reassuringly as they watch in fascination as Ten eats up her heart. It’s so fucking gross but Johnny absolutely loves it.

Once he is done and satisfied, Ten turns back to them with the biggest smile Johnny has ever seen, every expanse of his body dirty with blood. His eyes are the brightest shade of red he has ever seen on him up until now. He looks radiant, he is glowing and Johnny loves that for him, anticipates what that can possibly mean for himself.

“I feel so good,” Ten breathes out, jumping on him for an open-mouthed kiss. Johnny has to steady himself on the grip he has on Sicheng to stop himself from falling. Ten’s kisses are as urgent as Sicheng's usually are, more tongue than lips, hands groping him everywhere. It’s hard for him to keep up with Ten all over the place like this.

Ten doesn’t even say anything before he is being pushed down onto the floor, Ten’s weight completely on top of him, grinding down on his dick and making him moan. There is so much blood everywhere, pooling on the floor and soaking up his legs. The warmth of it is arousing and he allows himself to feel Ten up, to grope him as hard as Ten does it to him.

“I want you to ride Sicheng,” Ten breathes against his lips, smiling widely when Sicheng gasps. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” he answers too quickly, he knows, but he can’t help it. “Fuck, yeah, I can.”

Sicheng is quick to undress himself as Ten pushes his body off him, telling him to get his own clothes off. He struggles to push his skinny jeans down his thighs, struggles as it gets caught on his feet, nearly screams when he takes far too long to take them off. Ten takes it upon himself to pull on them, dragging Johnny’s body across the floor and smearing blood around as he does so.

And then Sicheng is pulling Johnny on top of him, pulling him into a kiss as he lies back on the floor. Johnny straddles his hips as they kiss, tries not to mind Ten’s hand on his ass, caressing him and spreading his cheeks apart.

The insert of the first finger is familiar and it doesn’t bother him. He chooses to focus on kissing Sicheng instead, on licking into his mouth and shoving his tongue down his throat. He can feel Sicheng is already just as hard as he is, can hear it in the way he softly moans and the way his nails dig into the skin of his hips.

Two fingers has his thighs shaking, struggling to keep himself on his knees for Ten to fuck him open for Sicheng's dick. He wishes he didn’t have to go through all this prepping if only that meant he could get fucked faster. Ten slaps his ass, as if able to read his thoughts and he whines at the sting.

Ten doesn’t take his time and definitely does not do a throughout work on fingering him open, does the minimum to have him ready to take a dick. Three fingers makes him whimper, makes him whine into Sicheng's mouth and beg for more out loud. But it seems like Ten likes to hear him begging, halts his movements until he begs again and again and again and it drives him crazy.

If he wasn’t sure before that Ten is the devil himself this is certainly proof enough, because it shouldn’t be allowed for anyone to make him get as pliant as Ten does. He cries out when he presses his fingers against his prostate, unrelenting until he is sure Johnny is seriously tearing up at the feeling.

He pulls his fingers out and wipes them clean on his ass cheek once he deems him ready enough, giving him a slap to tell him to get on moving. He doesn’t waste his time, holds Sicheng's dick by the base and aligns the tip right against his rim.

The first breach stings just a little, and he chooses to focus on the way pleasure washes over Sicheng's face instead of the slightly unpleasant feeling as he sinks down on him. He stops halfway down to catch his breath, chest heaving with the feeling of being so full already. He keeps sinking until he is down to the base, and Sicheng is the one to make him stop moving in order to catch his own breath.

It’s amazing when they fuck. Similarly to when Johnny was giving him a blowjob, Sicheng doesn’t let him move yet again, holds him tightly by the hips and fucks him hard as fast. Johnny didn’t think it was possible to feel his guts be rearranged while doing something like this but Sicheng sure is out to make him change his mind.

Sicheng moans when Johnny wraps a hand around his neck, pressing down ever so lightly in order to cur out his airways just a tiny bit. Johnny loves it, the way Sicheng lets go of him and the snapping of his hips halts immediately. So he rides him as hard as fast as he can manage, hand around his neck and choking him.

Ten wraps a hand around his dick from behind and it only takes a couple strokes for him to come and he can’t even bring himself to be ashamed of it, body shaking as he coats Sicheng's chest in sticky white. Sicheng comes with a strangled moan and it takes too long for Johnny to unwrap his hand from around his neck, the boy’s chest heaving for air as he is finally able to breathe again.

Sicheng’s cum is hot in his ass, hot when Sicheng pulls his dick out and it dribbles down the backs of his thighs. Ten wraps his arms around him for a kiss, lying down on the floor next to them. It takes him a moment to fully come down from his high, Ten lazily licking into his mouth.

It is like this, lying on the floor of an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and nothing else to keep them company, that Johnny realizes he wouldn’t mind one bit living life in sin if it meant he could get this whenever he wanted.

And Ten would protect him, wouldn’t he? He as promised him that much. He finds out Sicheng wasn’t wrong when he said Ten would eat his heart and swallow him whole. Now Johnny knows there is no turning back for him.

You just have to find what you love and let it kill you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [visual thread](https://twitter.com/10softbot/status/1102684295838216194)  
> [concept art](https://twitter.com/i/moments/1081351790313000960) by the incredible yas  
> [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/v0a53n4xiq6sfv74mm1mdih8m/playlist/0S32lBFlmVjJoUdAJuXIk7)
> 
> it has been two months since i started writing this fic and i cannot thank enough the people who's heard me endlessly talk about it while waiting patiently for it to be published. i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i loved writing it. it feels like i'm leaving a piece of my soul behind along with this fic. you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/10softbot) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/10softbot), please tell me what you thought of it!


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